The Eyes of the Maker - A Dragon Age Heroic Novel by Sean McDaniel
by SMcDaniel
Summary: Three unlikely heroes, a persecuted Dhalish Apostate Mage, an exiled Dwarven rogue, and a young struggling Avarri warrior, tumble into a web of deceipt, adventure, and destiny as they quest to steal a pair of artifact gems that is known by only a few elite scholars within the Chantry itself and taking them, could lead to the end of all of Ferelden.
1. Chapter 1 - Dark and Faded

**Chapter 1 – Dark and Faded**

The air here tasted of spent magic and the ground was the color of the dead. The woman looked about the huge cavern with its shifting blurred patterns of shadowy light and tried again to put her eyes into some type of focus. She glanced down and checked herself over to ensure all was as it should be. She felt a spin of light headedness once more as she tried to take in a deep breath to regain her center. Each time she had traveled to this strange place, the adjustment period became easier for her. But the unsettling blur of this place, the familiar nauseating roil in her stomach, and the shifting dizziness in her head always left her weak upon her arrival.

"Are you alright . . ?" the man standing next to her asked.

The woman nodded, giving the tall figure near her some indication that she was ok. The man standing next to her looked stretched and thin from her angle, like a long dark shadow against the blur of dimness that was the background of this place. His robes flowed at length around him and the man's hooded cowl was pulled up over his head, giving him the appearance of some specter rather than a man standing there in robes. The woman knew he was not _just_ a _man_, he was a _mage_. He was the key that allowed her access to and from this strange other worldly place. Without him, she would still be in Thedas and without him here, she would be lost and stranded in the place. As long as this man . . . this _mage_, was here by her side, all things here would be possible.

_The Fade_, as this place was called by most of Thedas, was an enigma to all who knew of it. It felt exotic, strange, unsettling, and yet familiar as well to the woman, both beautiful and terrible all at the same time. She noticed the mage pull forth a silver object from his soft leather hip pack that dangled from his belt. It was the mask the woman had given him before they left their bodies to travel to this place. The mage placed the silver mask upon his face, straightening it a bit as he donned it so that he could still see from its rounded eye slots. The woman shuffled through her own pack and pulled out a similar ornate silver mask. She put it on beneath her own hooded cowl and adjusted it in much the same manner. The pair looked like smiling silver faced imps, one tall and thin, the other short and stout.

The woman glanced about the blurry darkness around her. The queasiness in her stomach began to settle and her eyes began to adjust to her dim surroundings. The massive cavern they stood in seemed to engulf them in shadow and blurry faded light. It felt enormous in size as the woman peered about, swallowed by the darkness. The woman saw the blurry outline of stalactites in the distance above her, like a thousand sharp teeth in the highest reaches of the great expanse. To her, it seemed like a huge toothy beast of some great shadow creature biting down upon her as she looked about the dizzying heights above.

The woman could see points of light in the far reaches of the cavern's massive perimeter walls. The lights seemed to blur and twist in their form as she stared upon them. The lights came from what appeared to the woman to be dozens of flaring dots of red flames from blazing pyres set in the upper reaches around them in this cavern. These flickers of red dancing dots of light were set within great brass braziers and the woman could see that even though they appeared small from her vantage, they were massive in size. The red beacons were set high above the pair of strangers, along the exterior cavern walls of this shadowy place. Their pulsing glow revealed dozens of faraway passages and tunnels that dotted the walls of this place, promising an infinite network of places that came to this large area from all over this part of the Fade. A shiver ran down the woman's spine as the hundreds of red beacons stared down at her like thousands of glaring, judging eyes in the distance.

"Have you been here before," the man asked the woman in a low whisper, "to this place I mean, not _the Fade_?"

"Yes . . . twice before," the woman answered back, still pushing the dizziness from her head and shutting her eyes tight to avoid the red glaring dots of light flickering at her.

"Although, the experience has never been the same and always has taken some getting used to."

"Good, then I need not remind you the danger we are in at present," the man said with an edge to his voice.

The woman did not offer a response, instead stretching her senses across the cavern. The cavern was still and quiet for the moment. A deafening quiet that pressed in on her from all angles, making her feel tiny, threatening to engulf her. Her heart thumped hard and fast within her chest. This place smelled of old dampened soil, with a hint of the dead mixed with a crisp energy of fiery primal magic. The woman could almost taste this place in her mouth as she inhaled a deep breath for a moment . . . burned flesh . . . lightning strikes upon a field of fresh earth . . . and a twinge of alchemical tanginess that burned in her nose and upon the back of her tongue.

Although this dark place was deeply bathed in silence, the woman did not trust the deafening calm. She gazed into the deepening dark of the twilight horizon expecting curious visitors almost at any moment now. The woman spotted what she was scanning the reaches of this cavern for and pointed at it. The mage followed her arm to the distance and stared out into the inky darkness.

Several hundred yards ahead, the man could make out a large outline of a structure rising from the ground of this place. The structure appeared to be built in the form of a giant black shadowy pyramid, looming in the faded amber haze of this cavern. The pyramid was difficult to see clearly off in the distance from where the pair stood. It would have been impossible to see if not for the red hazy glow emitted from the beacons of light along the edges of the cavern's walls.

The pyramid's foundation looked large enough to fit an entire village within and its dark stone carved blocks gave it an almost nightmarish look from this vantage. The man noticed, even from far away, that runes could be seen crafted into each huge black stone foundation block. The runes glowed like floating blurry waves of silver light against the black expanse. The rune marks looked like waving silver phantoms hovering over the black cavern floor to the mage. The woman motioned with a nod of her head and began moving in the direction of the pyramid. The man followed closely behind her.

The woman had spent much of her adult life studying lore regarding this place, _the Fade_. She knew better than most its dangers, the very ones that the mage had reminded her of just moments ago. She also knew of its endless and infinite possibilities as well. She had studied years of documented works from high mages, renowned scholars, respected theologians, revered prophets, and countless others who had claimed to spend time within the boundaries of this strange realm.

The woman knew that most of the scholars she had learned from, either revered or feared this place, and all agreed that the Fade was the place where magic was born. The Fade was touted as a place where those that had died, sometimes now walked freely. It was a place where dark things from the depths of men's souls were often given form and could take action, as if they were alive in this place. The Fade was a place claimed by the supernatural yet treaded upon by the spirits of the living. She knew well the constant danger that existed here for one such as her, one that was alive and only visiting a place ruled by the dead. Until her and her companion left this place and stood firmly back on the ground on Thedas, there was nothing but danger and consequence for both of them here.

"Above us," the mage said to the woman as he nodded upwards and continued walking in a hurried pace, "they are no threat to us . . . be wary . . . and just keep moving."

The woman peeked up into the shadowy twilight space high above her. Half the area appeared as cavern ceiling with it many black stony teeth and the rest seemed a blurry amber dim shifting glow. But there was something else mixed in with the surreal amber sky and shadowy darkness. Appearing from the thick haze were several floating objects, bobbing about in a pack, high in the air above. Each of these strange things was the size of a horseman's cart, but round in their floating form. It reminded the woman of giant dark gliding bubbles drifting in the amber haze in a carefree cluster. The woman returned her gaze to the ground and hastened her steps. She had seen many strange things in this place and knew not to linger any longer than needed. The man sensed her pace and pushed onward himself.

For a moment, the woman wondered how the mage knew the giant floating bubbles were of no danger to them or even how he had sensed them prior to their arrival overhead. She coveted that ability, that uncanny sixth sense and innate power. The power of _a mage_! Their magic was the key to move between her world and this place that rested between life and death. Their abilities were unique to all of Thedas in that they and they alone could interact at will with the inhabitants of the Fade. It was an awe inspiring thought to have such powers and be able to tap into them with but a single thought. Many in Thedas considered mages and their powers to be living curses, but the woman was not amongst them. She pushed back her envy for the moment and continued moving, shifting her gaze away from the robed man next to her.

The mage had proven very useful to her over the past month or two, since she had stumbled across him in the woods near her cottage. Even now, the mage proved more than capable in his craft, able to move the both of them here almost effortlessly with his craft. He was proving quite a boon to the woman's complicated plans. As she stole a glance of the man again, she wondered how many times he had traveled to and from this realm. She wondered if this place frightened him still or if it was exhilarating for him. It carried both effects on her each time she came here.

"Were you frightened," the woman whispered to the mage, her mask muffling her question a bit as she spoke, "when you first came here I mean?"

"_Yes_, very" the man replied quickly.

"It was terrifying. My _Harrowing _was a thing I dreaded for many months leading up to it. And until I woke with a Templar's blade pressed hard against my exposed throat, I knew nothing of safety or comfort."

"_If_ you can even call that feeling a comfort to wake to," the man finished.

The woman knew the mage referred to the first time his powers moved him fully to this place, to the Fade. The first time his spirit left his body, floating on the winds of magic, taking the man to a place of dreams and nightmares. A _Harrowing_, as it was called by most Circle Mages in Thedas, is always a pivotal time in a new mages life. It is the first true test of a new mage when their spirit immerses here completely for the first time. A new Mage is always at their most vulnerable during this Harrowing, like a new born babe into the naked open world. The woman knew that all who were gifted with the arcane gift of magic experienced this as part of their passage into magedom. Newly taught Circle Mages in Ferelden prepare weeks, sometimes months, for their Harrowing.

These Harrowing trials were always done with senior mages present, acting as nurse maids for the newly awakened mages, as well as Knight Templar's of the Chantry. These Templar's are warriors taught and trained to fight magic wielding foes. They would stand at the ready, blade in hand; set to end a young mage's newly blossoming life if they failed this Harrowing test. This was deemed, _necessary_, by the Chantry, as sometimes mages who were weak in mind and spirit, ended up bringing back something with them from the Fade. Something that often proved unwelcome to the natural world and its inhabitants.

The woman knew well the trials of a new mage were often lethal and far from kind at their best.

That was how it had been for her sister, so long ago.

"Sweet little _Plerra_," the woman thought to herself as she continued the walk towards the pyramid ahead.

Memories of her little sister, only ten years old then, blond locks of golden hair bobbing about in finger length curls around her perfect small porcelain face, filled the woman's thoughts. The girl's bright blue eyes, like sapphires sparkling in the morning sun filled sky. And a smile that could make even the grayest winter days bright with warmth, all danced in the mind's eye of the woman.

She pushed the thoughts away from her heart and out of her mind. She knew they would not serve her in any useful way in this place. She was here now, in the Fade, and all her senses were needed to focus on the here and now. Her training and her study of this place were being counted on to keep them both alive on their visit here.

The woman reflected back to her years of training in Orlais. She had studied at length the retelling of the _Chant of Light _while she was there. A select passage from _the Canticles of Gotten Halieb_ the woman had read years ago now played over and over through her mind.

Gotten, who had written the retelling, had written the passage long ago during the Second Age of Thedas. He had been a great Chantry adviser and a Templar Commander in his life, the woman recalled, and had been well respected in regards to his thoughts on the Fade and mages in general.

"_It is often the mistake of one, or the few, that thousands later pay the ultimate price for, and this is why a swift, just, and forceful Templar hand is needed to govern over the practice of magic_. _Without that presence, the world would be lost to a great Blight and a greater darkness_!"

The woman wondered for a moment if Gotten had been writing about the original rise and fall of the ancient mage archon's of Tevinter, as they invaded the Maker's golden kingdom here in the Fade, or if he had been speaking prophetically about the events of the present day Harrowing rituals all about Thedas. His thoughts and teachings could logically apply to either setting, the past or the present.

She slowed her steps a bit as the pair had reached their destination. The black stone pyramid, its glowing silver runes marking it in the darkness, stood just a few dozen yards ahead. A large opening could be seen at the pyramid's base in the form of a rounded stone tunnel way. It was lit from within, with dim fluttering torches somewhere deeper within its round stretching maw.

The woman looked about the area, scanning for any movement, any sound or sight they should be wary of. But there was nothing around them but shadow and glowing amber blur. Nothing else moved or made noise in this lonely quiet place.

"Need we be concerned, about . . . _ other_ things here," the woman asked the man behind her as she paused?

The man knew what the woman was asking about, even as the woman glanced about nervously before entering the tunnel way ahead.

"_Always_," the man whispered.

The man paused for a moment, seeming to be lost in mid thought. He stood motionless for several long paused moments. No breath escaped his mask and his eyes were closed beneath the silvered eye holes. Finally, the man exhaled and moved once again.

"We are alone . . . for now," the man answered, sensing no other presence about the area.

The woman knew the Fade to be inhabited by many things. She knew it was considered the crossing place for a living being that had recently passed from life, to seek its way across the thin veil and move into the great beyond. She knew it was also a place for the living, the dead, and the other inhabitants here to mingle, cross paths, and interact.

That was the very reason the pair found themselves here and now. They were set to meet with one of the Fade's inhabitants, in its home, this pyramid. The woman remembered the old Dhalish cautionary tales about the Fade as she paused for a moment longer before advancing into the tunnel way ahead.

"_The Fade is a place where the living and the dead share their energies, so that each new moment we exist, the world can die and be reborn anew. The spirits use the Fade to brew this secret recipe of life and death each new day, away from the prying covetous eyes of the living. Their guardians of these secrets are legion! They are both terrible and great in form and have presence in every shadow. Beware those seeking to delve too deep for those secrets, for those that seek to pick up that final stone to see what lies beneath it, may not like what they find_!"

The woman knew of course, that the caution to be had in that tale referred to _Demons_. They were the majority of the Fade's inhabitants and also the most dangerous by far. Demons could sense the living and their intrusion within the Fade in a moment's notice and could do so from great distances away.

Both the woman and mage knew that Demons were an ever present reality here as long as they stayed within this place. And although their business here was with a powerful entity of the Fade, that fact offered neither of them any protection from the prying curiosity or passing interest from countless other forms that may be lurking about.

The woman entered the tunnel way, not wishing to pause here in the open darkness any longer. The man followed and they both moved quickly down the long stone tunnel that stretched ahead. As they advanced, many stone off shoot archways passed by to their right and left along the main tunnel corridor. They all connected to this main junction, but the woman continued to walk past them all in her rushed pace. She had been here before and remembered the way to their final destination, deep at the heart of this place. Any detour now would most assuredly lead to delay and possibly worse for the pair.

There was movement ahead where the dim light originated from and the pair slowed once more to a stop. A form was drifting towards them from the tunnel way ahead. As it moved closer and closer, the thing appeared to be something other than a man! It had no legs to its roughly humanoid form and it floated down the corridor towards them like something out of a nightmare.

The sight of the thing made the woman think back once again to her lore of this place. To a lecture she had attended in Denerim years ago, given by a well known mage and scholar named Nikadamus. Nikadamus had been well known around Ferelden and many parts of Thedas as a scholar who specialized on matters concerning the Fade and its inhabitants. She remembered taking tedious notes in that particular lecture in regards to differing entities within the Fade.

"_Yes, there are many life forms within the Fade and not all are terrible and born of nightmares. I myself have spoken with great forces of pure good and honorable intent within the Fade. Spirits and Guides, they would call themselves. These beings considered themselves keepers of peace, pillars of good and guiding lights to Thedas' entire living world! I myself believe them to be sent by the Maker, to aid the world against terrible things in times of great need, offering a counter to the great depths of evil released in times of great darkness, such as the Blight._

_ But it is true, there are also many energies, beings, and forms in the Fade that have yet to be seen with mortal eyes. And yes, there are the other things that hide and lair in the darkness of that other worldly place. They number as infinite and can stalk a mage like a cast shadow in a moonlit night. They prey upon the weak, they offer aid in the form of dreams and promises of power, and they always claim their payment in blood and souls. They are . . . Demons! _

_ And let me say this, true power is not measured by the force of these demons or the force to resist such terrors. One can truly only know or understand real power and divine wisdom once one can tell the Demon's in the Fade from the other beings that walk freely in that place. That is the true measure of a mage's power, knowledge and truth!_"

The legless thing continued to move closer to the man and the woman until it was just a few paces away. The mage stood at the ready for what may come next, but the woman continued to stare silently at the unnatural looking floating abomination.

The woman thought the thing looked like a whirlwind storm of dark mist and swirling droplets of blood. The entity had no lower appendages and where they should have been, was only a red mist that had sprung from the ground in a swirling vortex. She saw that its upper body featured the torso of a man, with a fleshy pale sunken chest. It had an elongated pair of boney arms draped to its sides and the shape of a head atop its shouldered form. Its fleshy muscled parts were pale white in tone with a tint of rotting yellow green in places. Tendons and bone were exposed in areas where skin had been ripped or flayed here and there. She could see the creature's long pale arms dragging alongside it as it moved and its boney clawed hands scraped across the ground as it hovered towards them. Atop its form, its head was just a large humanoid skull. It was bathed in a red glow that came from its radiant sparks of crimson light that rested within deep shadowy sockets of the skull itself.

"_You_ . . . _are expected_," the thing rasped out towards the pair in a whisper, its haggard voice, like a thousand serpents hissing in unison.

The pair said nothing in response, struck silent for the moment at the creature's uttered words. After another long moment, the mage glanced over to the woman seeking her instructions with his eyes. The creature turned away from them before she could offer a response as it began floating deeper within the pyramid's bowels.

The woman remembered the way ahead, but let the whirling thing move on ahead. She began to follow cautiously several long paces behind the swirling thing. The thing moved them deeper and deeper into the heart of the stony complex. On and on it lead them down shadowed corridors, through many doors, and finally it emptied them into a great room, deep within the shadowy heart of this pyramid.

The inner room they had been brought to was massive in size. It seemed every bit a place of _the Fade_. It was eerie to her, cloaked in fading light and pulsating moving darkness all at the same time. The woman thought the entire chamber seemed to be a blend of strange occult imagery mixed with modern Thedas dressings. She could see pieces of dark cheery wood furnishings set alongside long sturdy oak tables that were filled with types of alchemy equipment. On the floor were long thick dyed red fur bear skin rugs and fine leather covered sitting chairs that rested upon them. Delicate red and black silk tapestries that looked to be from the halls of kings and lords draped dark stone where there were walls and not amber fading shadows. Opulent paintings of knights and courtly ladies mingling about blended with marble busts and ivory statues along the shadowy exteriors of the great room and there appeared to be more hidden by the darkness of the immense place. It all blended together, sitting amongst stalagmites of dark shadowy stone along with cavern pools of silent black water in an overlap where two places, two worlds, joined as one.

In the center of the room, a single form was ever present in its eerie supernatural presence. It drew the attention of both visitors as well as from the thing that lead them here.

At the form's core, it was shaped like a charred man's skeletal frame. It was a black boney thing of pure deep shadow and inky darkness. But all around this skeletal black outline was a dazzling and shifting array of energetic pulsing light. The pulsing energy came from a pair of bright flares of green and silver that constantly fought against the shadowy darkness of the form beneath them.

The wrestling light pushed against the darkness as if they fought with one another for dominance of the area and the skeletal form seemed to be at its core. The pair of visitors found this array of visual intoxication hard to stare straight at for long and both found themselves shifting their stares down to the ground. The masks had been worn at the entities advice to help with this very feeling, but it did not seem to be helping the woman or the mage at present. Both felt as if staring much longer at the pulsing battle of light and darkness would drive them insane in a moment's notice.

The pair knelt in a show of fealty, heads bent, and they remained silent in their kneeling pause, waiting for the skeletal thing to acknowledge them. Finally, it did so and when it spoke, its voice chilled the core of all things that were within earshot.

"_Rise_, _my child_," the dark skeletal being commanded, offering no movement within the pulsing light battle as it spoke.

The woman knew well that even if the thing wanted to move from the light, it could not. That fact was why she was here. She knew well what held the thing in place and she shared the feeling of imprisonment the being felt. All her plans, her dreams, her desires, were tied to this dark entities freedom from the pulsing energies anchoring, confining it to this place.

Both figures stood as the powerful Demon commanded, although both kept their heads tilted down towards the ground to avoid seeing the maddening light array again. The blood storm servant bowed its skull slightly and then moved back into the dark hallway sensing it was no longer needed in its master's hall.

"I see you have brought a friend this time, _child_," the entity said to the woman as she stood.

The entities voice graveled out in a low rumble, like boots grinding over small pebbles in a dry river bed. The mage felt chills sweep over his arms and back. He gave a slight shiver from beneath his robes but tried his best to stifle his movement almost immediately.

"Yes, my dark master," the woman answered, her voice slightly muffled by the silver mask she wore, but clear enough to be heard by the listening demon.

"This is the one I spoke of during my last visit with you. He has proven to be a capable enough mage and ally, well versed in the ways of magic, _blood magic_. His lust for power is paled only by his devotion to me. This man has pledged his loyalties to me and through me, _to you_, my dark lord. He begged to see you after I asked him to bring me here, to you. He wishes to bring reality to your every desire," the woman offered as she bowed low and motioned towards the robed man standing behind her.

The robed figure bent low in another sweeping bow of respect. His silver mask sparkled and shimmered in reflection of the pulsing silver and green flares of light in front of him.

"This one . . . he smells of _fear_. He carries the faded stink of fleas and ticks and _piss_," the entity rasped out wildly, "and his powers . . . I sense . . . are as feeble and unpolished as a _beggar's tin cup_!"

Several long moments of silence followed the creatures hissing and pointed rant.

The woman could feel the present and probing black shadowy gaze of the demon stare wash over her like the heat of a thousand black suns wavering overhead. Beads of sweat began to form beneath her metal mask that rested upon her face. The mage dared not move or speak as he sensed their lives were but twigs beneath this powerful entities great weight.

Finally, the woman moved in a blur, breaking the long silence as she did so.

"I have offended you master," the woman blurted forth in a haste as she spun, her breathing desperate as she burst into motion.

"My judgment was poor and I shall quickly rectify that mistake."

The woman turned in a half circle and did so without any hesitation. She pulled forth a long curved shining metal blade from the folds of her robe as she did so. The woman closed on the man behind her in a single long stride and shoved the tall figure back several paces forcibly into the nearby stone wall.

Her left arm pinned the taller figure with a desperate show of strength while her right hand worked the shining curved long blade beneath the mask of the struggling taller thin man. The blade pressed tightly against the mages fleshy stubble covered throat. It had all happened so quickly and without warning, the mage found that he was nearly helpless in the pin. A choked off desperate cough was all the man could muster at this moment, trapped like a moth plucked by its wings in mid flight.

The woman paused, but only for a second. The pause came because she knew if she slew this mage beneath her blade, she was trapped here, in the Fade. She would be trapped with this dark and powerful demon entity, perhaps forever. But she was left with little choice or say in the matter as it stood. The blade pressed harder into the mages exposed throat and her arm began to move it from left to right.

"_Good_, _good_, your loyalty is like sweet honey dripping upon my tongue _child_," the Demon whispered in a rumbling lusty call, yet still it _did not_ move, it _could not_ move.

"_Hold fast your blade then_! You have much that needs done and few allies that have shown value of late. And still fewer that have proven themselves trustworthy or useful to our cause. Let us hope this . . . _man_, does not disappoint . . . _either_ of us."

The woman sighed with relief and released the pressure of the long bladed knife from the mages throat, returning to a more normal stance under the mage. She spun and bowed deeply again towards the demon, keeping her gaze low as she did so.

The knife silently returned to its home within the deep folds of the woman's robes. The man coughed as he was released and found that he could breathe once again. But the man quickly recovered and stood motionless behind the woman, sensing the great danger he was still in.

"My patience . . . _thins_ _child_," the Demon moaned at the woman. Its sorrow filled plea sounded like a hundred banshees in mournful wails of loved ones they had lost.

"My research reveals us the answer to my freedom, to my rebirth into your world. My debts stand collected and all my favors called up from the denizens of this realm. They bear sweet fruit and yet still I am here, starving to taste them as they hang just out of reach! You have proven loyal and steadfast in your pledge to my goal, yet I grow weary of the long time it is taking you in finding the final piece to complete my return!"

"I know my master and I share your _impatience_, your _frustration_, your _yearning_" the woman groveled.

"Each day that passes their burns a fire of rage within me that seeks to explode and roar and yet this inferno knows no quenching," the woman bellowed forth in a shouted whisper.

"I would see you free my master, loose upon the world in all your glory once again. I would know the taste of my promised favors and the feel of my vengeance satiated after all this time as we together, destroy the Chantry and their Templar's for their past transgressions on us both! It is all that I think of, it _consumes_ _my every waking thought_!"

"_Good_, _good_. Then keep to task, child," the Demon purred to the woman, seemingly pleased with her passion filled words.

"Find me those that can do as I require. Remove these _curses_ from me, my bonds that confine me to this place, so that I may once again take up power in the mortal world!"

"As you command my lord, your desire is my every pleasure," the woman replied.

"Every day I watch for the one you have bayed me watch for. The one you have seen in your visions, the one that will lead us to those that can release you! And each day, although vigilant, I find no sign of a . . . _Man of the Clouds and Frost_, no man that is . . . _scarred by the hand of Azinthe, Demon of the Blazing Rage, _no man . . . _brimming full with mourning sorrows_."

"_He will come_ to you my child, as I have been promised, as I have foreseen. He will come to you, even as breath comes to your waiting breast each new moment. He will come to you seeking to ease his great burdens brought on by the rage of _Azinthe_ himself," the Demon purred once again.

"Keep vigilant and ever watchful woman. Be at the ready to pull this man into our house when the time is upon us. That is all you need focus on!"

"What of the others, the ones in _Crimson_, the ones from the city by the great eastern sea? Did their minions do as they promised? Did this _Red Guild_ bring you the lore and the gold you required?"

"Yes my dark master," the woman answered with a quick nod.

"They were true to their promise. They seem sympathetic to our cause and seem more than capable allies for us for our future plans, once you are free upon Thedas once again."

"_Agreed_, my child," the Demon said.

"They seek the most terrible of darkness for the world and I would see us align our cause with theirs. They are of the same blood and fury as we are. Follow the course as I have plotted then. You _will_ find the one touched by _Azinthe_, he _will_ seek you out. This one _will_ be the one with the means to do as I require. Set him to task. He will do the rest."

"I will not fail you my dark master," the woman said with a low bow, excitement building within her voice.

The dark shadowy char bone form of the demon seemed pleased as well with the exchange. It watched from its center perch, trapped and waiting amidst the flaring twin lights about its imprisoned form.

With that, the pair of robed figures departed the inner chamber, leaving the stone tunnels that lead them there, leaving the black Pyramid in the center of the deep cavern, and finally leaving the massive cavern that rested securely within the Fade. The great darkness that was the Demon, lord of this area of the Fade, sat in silent contemplation, as it had done so many previous nights in its past. It waited for its perfect time to return to the living world, to bond with a mage of Thedas again, and to wreak its special type of dark madness upon the lands. It had waited a very long time for its second chance and it could wait a few more nights.


	2. Chapter 2 - A Heavy Burden

**Chapter 2 – A Heavy Burden**

A light rain drizzled along the old wooden planks of the damp road side rest. Rotting wooden buckets struggled to catch falling drips of rain around the common room of the old tavern. The buckets were placed about on stained tables and in spots along the floor near water drenched old planks. Spring rains had swept over the area of late resulting in muddy trails and wet patrons for the old watering hole. The Copper Kettle Rest was not much to look at, a rundown creaky stopping point between the trails south of the River Nonn and the trade roads further north. The Rest was no more than a way station to larger settlements, such as Denerim and Amaranthine, along one of many trails near the Brecillian Forest's western borders.

The wet drizzle had many travelers coming in off the road earlier than normal today and the small dripping tavern creaked and thumped from the many wet muddy boots of weary passersby. All stopped and ducked into the old tavern in hopes of filling mugs with ale and bellies with warm food on this soggy mid afternoon.

The bar keep, a withered Ferelden man with a thin moustache the color of stained birch bark, wiped off a table near the door before setting a tray of foam topped mugs down upon it. Wood splinter cuts and swollen knuckles from the cold damp covered the bar keeps knotted hands. The man slid the foamy mugs to each of the figures at the table, a dwarf to one side and a Dhalish, or elf as some in these parts called them, on the other end. The man looked over the pair of strangers again, locking eyes with the stout dwarf to his left.

"That'll be four coppers hard Ser," the barkeep muttered towards the dwarf not looking in the direction of the Dhalish elf as he spoke.

The thin elf seemed not to notice and remained motionless, lost in his thoughts for the moment. The elf seemed to be watching the comings and goings of the locals near the front of the tavern at present. Perhaps more interested in the dripping water about the tavern's common room than the bar keep or the foamy ale that had just been placed on the table in front of the pair of travelers.

The dwarf that sat across from the elf stared up at the barkeep at the mention of payment. The dwarf was a thick muscled stout cut of stone and mountain, with dark red brown muddy leather toned skin and a hard untrusting look upon his furled brow. His small dark eyes, like a pair of black shiny river rocks, that seemed to get lost on his wide dwarven face due to his thick bark brown braided bush of a beard.

The dwarf opened his mouth to speak, looking like he was about to haggle over the cost of the drinks, but instead, let out a long weary sigh and just shrugged ever so slightly. He then reached into his heavy leather belt and began to fiddle with a small pouch tucked and wrapped behind it.

The barkeep noticed the pair of strangers both wore traveler's garb, stained heavily with mud and soak from the wet trails of the wilds of these parts. Dwarves and elves were common in these parts of Eastern Ferelden, but the barkeep could not remember the last time that one of each sat together in his tavern, as traveling companions. It was an odd sight for the old barkeep. Most of their kind seemed to keep to their own and even then, both races preferred other environs over muddy trails and old soggy taverns in Ferelden.

While the barkeep waited for the dwarf to find his coin for the drinks, his eyes washed over the array of weaponry on and about the surely looking dwarf.

"_Humph_, _sell swords I be bettin'_," the man thought to himself.

A heavy hand crafted dwarven crossbow rested in an open chair next to the fidgeting damp dwarf. It looked well kept and oiled, with many bronze and steel pieces adorning its top half as well as its trigger mechanism. Several dozen grooved notches had been carved along one side of its heavy stock, a tally of some kind that the dwarf must have kept to track his kills in the wilds.

On the dwarf himself, the bar keep could see a thick leather belt holding several impressive daggers resting in leather worn sheaths. Another bone hilted dagger stuck out from the dwarf's right leather boot that was resting near where the barkeep stood. The dwarf's thick leather armor, dotted with worn rivets and metal studs, looked like it had seen repair after repair in its many days. The hand crafted armor seemed littered with many dangles and frays all about its edges and stitching.

The Dhalish was more of a mystery to the barkeep. After surveying the dwarf, the barkeep looked over the elf, who continued to watch the dripping water near the front door of the tavern. The elf wore a simple padded long sleeved tunic shirt made of cheap woven light colored stained cloth. His leather breeches looked worn thin in many spots and were patched in many others, and his high leather boots were still dripping and muddy along their bottom edges. The elf had no weaponry on display and looked rather pedestrian compared to his shorter well armed traveling companion.

The elf pushed his soggy shoulder length grayish white hair back to prevent it from further dripping water into his lap, at least anymore than it had already done. His gray blue eyes shifted over to his dwarven companion to see what the holdup was with the barkeep's dues. The dwarf did not look up as he spilled a few copper hard coins onto the table. The barkeep scooped them up quickly and nodded his thanks before walking away.

"A rotted drippin' heap o' a nest this be eh _Sindel_", the dwarf grumbled to his elven companion?

"An' 'fore ye be stumblin' out the 'ole . . . well, it be a _dry_ restin' place at the least there _Ozwulf_ . . . let me be sayin' 'ere an' now, it not even be _that_ dry in 'ere", the dwarf snorted sarcastically.

The barbed commentary and dampened mood of the dwarf did not seem to faze Sindel as he continued to watch the comings and goings of the tavern patrons. The front door creaked open and slammed shut, time and time again. Cloaks were shaken off as water splashed and dripped on to the old wooden floor boarding as patrons sought shelter from the drizzling rain outside. The walls were stained with dripping water as the garments were hung to dry, over and over again.

Grim nods and murmurs passed for conversation, as travelers moved about the place here and there. Strangers were met with road weary eyes and soaked spirits as people would shout orders to the barkeep as they found room close to the fire pit to warm themselves while they dried off as much as they could.

Sindel stared at a lone figure on the opposite side of the common room. The figure that had caught his eye was a tall, muscled younger man, sitting by himself in the shadows of a far corner table. The man was taller than anyone in the tavern by a foot or more and Sindel seemed hypnotized by the sitting figure. Sindel was so entranced by the tall man across the room that Ozwulf's drumming complaints had muted to a dull faded noise around the elf.

Sindel guessed the figure had been here in this place for some time now. The man had been here already when Sindel and Ozwulf had made their way into the common room earlier. And several empty mugs on the man's table revealed that he was not only fond of ale, but had been enjoying the brew for some time now.

Sindel's eyes moved over the figure again and again, marking details as his mind carved up assumptions and guesses as to what the man was doing in this place. It was an old habit of his, since his younger days in the Alienage growing up in Denerim. Sindel always had a keen eye for details but this often clouded his judgment, as his wild imagination would fill in some of the details for him as he went. Sometimes, these details blurred between reality and assumption for the elf. He knew that this day dreaming of his sometimes lead him astray, but he allowed his mind to wander about for the time being. The game was proving a nice distraction from the dwarf's sour mood and lectures about coins and muddy trails.

"_Hmmm_, _not of Ferelden I would guess_," Sindel thought quietly, lost in the distraction for the moment.

"An _Avarri_ or a _Chasind_ warrior perhaps . . . _strange_ . . . to be wandering the roads so far from his homelands, and _alone at that_? Perhaps he is waiting for someone, or something?"

The tall muscled man slumped over the table a bit as Sindel watched on. The man's broad shoulders were that of a smithy's son, chiseled and wide, rippled with strength. The slumping man gulped another long draw from his mug of ale. He then let what was left in the mug slosh a bit before resting it back on the table next to the many other empty mugs that lay scattered about his table top.

"He drinks . . . to _forget_ something, or avoid it at the very least," Sindel murmured out, more to himself than to Ozwulf. The dwarf spat out something in response but it was lost on the day dreaming Sindel, who was tangled in his own thoughts.

Sindel saw that the big barbarian had no cloak, or wet things hanging near him, and seemed to travel very lightly. Only a small deer skin pack or satchel of some kind rested in the empty chair next to the slumping man. A half spilled leather coin purse of coppers rested on the table and several steel weapons rested against or on the table of the figure. A large thick bladed sword appeared to be the center piece of the arsenal resting next to the barbarian and within reach of the man's massive hands.

"Definitely a _warrior _then," Sindel mumbled to himself?

The man looked the part, with the weapons and garb upon him. Even from here, Sindel could see recent wounds here and there on the man that revealed that the man had seen battle recently. Sindel could see pinkish red stains on some of the lighter fur trimming about the man's armored padded edges. The stains looked like faded blood, bled thin from the recent rains over the past few days. The man's muscular left arm had pink splotched scarring in large areas near his exposed back shoulder, more evidence of a skirmish. The area showed new skin growing in spots where the warrior's chain and leather armor pieces showed open flesh. Sindel marked the wounds as recent, but not too recent.

"More than a few days old, but no more than a week or two," Sindel thought to himself regarding the man's wounds.

"_Burns_ perhaps?" Sindel murmured as he continued his evaluation of the scene.

Sindel leaned a little to his left and saw the man also had black char upon many areas on his leather armor straps near his back ribs.

"Some type of fire perhaps, very curious indeed." Sindel thought as he continued his study of the intriguing figure.

"Hey, _knife ears_, has the rains dripped into ye big elven head causin' ye hearin' an' all ye other senses t' be drowned away to a muddled pile then?"

"Or are ye jus' tryin' to piss in a dwarf's ale by ignorin' him while he be rattlin' off question after question to ye'self in vague whispers?" the dwarf barked at Sindel, so loud it snapped him from his day dreaming stares.

Ozwulf's eyes were filled with annoyance as they shot straight at Sindel from across the table. The dwarf's mood seemed as stormy as the weather outside. The long road south and a myriad of other recent troubles had worn Ozwulf's patience very thin of late. Few jobs had come their way these past few months, their coins were diminishing to close to nothing, and the damp muddy spring roads of late made it ever slower to move from one area to the next on foot, especially for those in dire need of work.

"You know I _strongly_ _disapprove_ of that term," Sindel answered casually, breaking away from his observations for the moment and addressing the dwarf with a disapproving look.

That seemed to make Ozwulf show a tiny hint of a leathery grin beneath his bearded scowl.

"_By the Kings short human beard_ elf, I be thinkin' ye had water stuck in ye ear holes o' somethin'," the dwarf snickered.

"Just taking in the local sights my friend, that is all. The slosh this morning has left me . . . a bit spent."

"My belly rumbles though, now that we are settled. Are we to be sampling any food at this fine establishment," Sindel asked, eying a bowl of pale thin soup someone slurped at noisily near the bar?

"That is, _if_ they have anything warm here . . . it is hard to tell from what I see. I am not sure if that is soup or just rain water caught from the dripping roof," Sindel said with a grin.

"But at this point, I could use anything warm to heat my bones and insides, if our coin stretches that far today?"

"_Aye_, it be a solid idea," Ozwulf said.

"Be orderin' us some o' that soup an' bread then, 'though _not_ a scrap more, ye hear me elf," the dwarf cautioned, "we be not havin' much more coppers left tween' us an' still have us a couple o' hard days walk 'fore the next village be 'pon us."

"An even with this . . . _Loggerswald_ place, bein' close by now, there be no guarantee o' work there fer us, no matter what we be hearin' tale o' late," the dwarf warned.

"What's more, ye ought ta be considerin' . . ." Ozwulf stopped mid sentence as Sindel stood up abruptly, ignoring completely what the dwarf was about to say.

The elf's eyes were still drifting across the common room, not paying any heed to the dwarfs current warnings, bleak offerings, or tedious concerns.

"It's settled then," Sindel murmured.

"Ozwulf, you go ahead and order the food as I have a quandary to tend to. It holds sway over me in this moment even more than your concerns of coin and job," Sindel said, shooting a sideways grin at the dwarf before he drifted off.

Sindel grabbed his tankard of ale and began making his way across the common room floor towards the dark brooding figure sitting alone on the other side of the tavern.

"_Stone's throw_!"

"_If I be a spittin' dwarf then_ . . ." Ozwulf grumbled under his breath, his face blushing orange and red beneath his mud colored bearded cheeks.

"_Barkeep_, two bowls o' that warm piss colored broth ye be offerin'," the dwarf barked out loud.

Ozwulf turned, repositioning himself so that he could see where Sindel was heading and what had the elf so encapsulated. The dwarf locked onto the solitary tall barbarian looking figure sitting in the shadows that seemed to be Sindel's target of curiosity.

Ozwulf did not have time to take in nearly as much detail as Sindel had already done. What the dwarf did have time to see though, concerned him more than a little. One glance at the barbarian's large muscular build, his garb that screamed of his Avarri heritage, coupled with his massive steel blade resting against the chair next to him, all caused Ozwulf to instinctively reach towards one of his many daggers upon his belt. Ozwulf's eyes narrowed once again and he waited for the trouble that was surely ahead.

"_Greetings_ and well met my large foreign friend," Sindel beamed as his wooden tankard clanked down on the barbarian's table with a thud.

"No need to rise," Sindel motioned to the man.

"Weary bones seek the comforts of a sturdy chair I can see and perhaps weary spirits seek some cheerful company to warm moods on this damp evening."

Sindel sat down at the table, opposite the barbarian stranger. The man remained motionless and did not look up at the elf now sitting across from him.

Sindel stared hard at the barbarian. This vantage was far superior from his one from across the room. Sindel thought for a moment about his own safety, but that thought faded quickly as his curiosity overtook his common sense. Sindel was intrigued about this warrior for some reason. It was something that tugged at him, something nagging in his mind about the man. So much so that he now threw caution to the wind in search of answers to his many questions about this stranger.

"I see you seek the warmth of these thinned ales over those of the hearth. It must be for something other than their taste. I too, seek relief from these wet roads and dampened moods," Sindel offered to the stranger.

Sindel was stalling for time more than anything as he continued his closer inspection of the warrior sitting across from him. The large man continued to be still and offered no response to Sindel's gushing pleasantries.

"Here, allow me to buy you an ale my friend," Sindel offered as he slid his full tankard of ale over to the middle of the round table, offering it up to the sitting quiet man.

"I shall get another one for me."

"_Barkeep_," Sindel shouted from across the room, "another for me and bring a second for my thirsty new friend here."

As Sindel's gaze returned to the man in front of him, the scene had changed. The strange warrior was now staring down at the sitting Sindel from across the table, eyes locked upon Sindel's own. A chill ran over Sindel's back and shoulders and the elf tried to hide his shutter at the man's cold stare.

Across the room, Ozwulf shook his head in disbelief of his foolish elven friend's boldness.

Sindel repositioned himself slightly so that he could see the man's face better. Dark piercing eyes stared down at the near empty tankard of ale in the barbarian's hand and then swept back towards Sindel's own full tankard. Chiseled cheek bones and a square muscled jaw fit in amidst a hanging mop of soaked dripping tangles of dark stranded unkempt hair. The man was younger than Sindel had first thought, showing just a bit of youthful stubble on his muscled jaw line.

"_Twenty winters, no more_," Sindel thought to himself, as he took in all the details he could see, now that he was staring face to face with the stranger.

Blood stains soaked deeply into wet fur could be clearly seen on pieces of leather trimmings about the front side of the barbarian's chain and leather tabard. Links of Avarri crafted chainmail were smashed and missing in places and leather cording had frayed here and there all along the warrior's damp armored form.

"_A fight eh and a serious one at that_," Sindel thought as the silence at the table continued to grow in duration, causing an expanding tension of the scene to creep out from the table and into the surrounding common room now.

The tall warrior seemed uneasy and uninterested in Sindel as expressions of borderline annoyance turned to frustrated and short tempered scowling. Sindel could see this clearly in the warrior's intense stare. The man's arms and shoulders tensed up and no longer slumped at the table as he sat. But Sindel noticed something else in the warrior's gaze, other than tempered frustration and mounting tension. Sindel noticed a hint of sorrow and loneliness buried deep within that stare as well.

The hidden sadness caught Sindel by surprise and tugged at his curiosity with a renewed vigor. The man shifted a bit to his right and rolled his neck from side to side to loosen the tension between his large shoulders.

Sindel looked down, breaking his stare, and noticed something new. The man had a thin leather cord tied around his left hand. Something small seemed to be tethered to it. Whatever it was, it was cupped in the barbarian's clenched hand away from Sindel's probing stare.

Sindel was infatuated with it from the moment he noticed it. The elf grinned broadly at the tether corded object hidden away from his stare. The cord was wrapped several times around the barbarian's hand and wound so tightly it left white marks along the man's clenching hand where his circulation was being cut off. The barbarian did not seem to care about the loss of blood flow to his hand and kept it clenched in a tight fist.

This final observation was cut short as Sindel snapped his gaze up, locking eyes with the warrior as the man finally spoke to him.

"_Go away_ little man, your drink is welcome, but _you_ are not," the barbarian rumbled out like a quiet thunder storm in the night sky.

The warrior's statement started like a growl from a great grizzly bear, but finished like a raspy deep whispered bellow. Drink slurred his words slightly and the threat was issued half heartedly from the young warrior to the elf across from him.

The man's eyes drifted downward to the near empty mug on the table, pausing shortly for a glance at the cupped item wrapped in the tethered leather cording in his hand.

"Alright then, I will go," Sindel replied.

"And with no more bothers in hand for you my tall warrior friend, as I can see the dark sorrows and fresh wounds upon you as you drink this evening. But, before I go, I will share a toast with you, in honor of fallen comrades I think."

Sindel stood and raised the tankard he had offered the barbarian earlier. The elf cleared his throat, stalling for a few more precious seconds before he spoke, trying hard to make his one chance to break the ice, a successful one.

Across the room, Ozwulf's head shaking disbelief had turned to a rumbling hearty chuckled laugh as the elf stumbled through his attempt to make friends with the stranger.

"In _memory_ . . . of those that have fallen . . . beneath the dark savagery of wicked foes and to those that have waged life and limb in battles hard fought," Sindel said defiantly with a flourish.

Sindel stared down at the sitting barbarian to see if his last desperate attempt to get to know the stranger had even gotten a nibble of attention from the man.

The tall warrior stood with one quick jerky motion and lifted up what was left in his near empty mug. The barbarian had to brace a little and collect himself for a moment before he answered the toast. The quick stance the warrior had attempted seemed to unbalance and catch him by surprise. The many mugs of thinned ale had seemingly taken a toll on the Avarri. After the short pause, the barbarian raised his mug towards Sindel's own.

"To_ brothers_ lost then . . . to battles than cannot be won with steel or heart . . . and to the end of the world as the _Mountain Father_ pours forth his tears in weeping sadness for his lost children. And to us, who are _the lost_, for the choices we made not knowing the evil in men's hearts or the folly of our actions."

The barbarian roared the toast out into Sindel with clarity and purpose. The warrior had used such a serious tone that Sindel could not help but be struck silent by its intensity.

Sindel poured over the words before clanking his tankard into the warriors. Sindel then drank deeply from the mug, nodding in agreement with the Avarri. The toast began haunting the elf almost immediately as it rolled around in Sindel's head, over and over again.

The riddle that was this man's woeful story was tucked deeper in mystery than ever before for the elf. Sindel's face scrunched up in frustration at the thought, but he remained silent for the moment. He needed to use caution here as he maneuvered forward with the warrior.

"That my friend was _not_ a remembrance that I will soon forget," Sindel said to the barbarian.

"I am thunderstruck by your words and their deep meanings and deeper memories. They ride across your face even now as I see your bold toast holds strong meaning within your heart," Sindel said as he sat back down at the table.

"I am afraid you make a liar out of me warrior, as I cannot just leave after such a toast as that. I fear that you may call me foe or perhaps cut me in two with that large sword of yours, but it is a risk I must take in order to reflect more on such thunderous deep words as those you have just leveled me with."

Sindel paused now, sipping another drink from his ale while slipping a glance up towards the big warrior to watch his reaction.

Sindel stared, awaiting a long pause, half expecting to be met with a punch to the nose from the man for his continued intrusions. Not far away, Ozwulf had caught much of the toast and was no longer laughing. The entire tavern common room had heard the toast and it held a thick blanket of seriousness over the damp room. Ozwulf held his breath waiting to see what the man's reaction would be towards Sindel. It was clear to everyone, maybe _except _Sindel, that this man was in a serious mood and wanted no bother this night.

A slight smile began to stretch across the barbarian's tanned face, not of courtesy or laughter, but one of relieved tension. The thin smile seemed genuine enough to Sindel and with that, the elf returned the smile.

"You _are_ a bold one Dhalish, I give you that," the Avarri warrior said to Sindel.

"I am not sure you will find my company welcoming after a time here at my table. And I am not sure I welcome your . . . _welcomeness_ . . . or whatever . . . and questions about still fresh wounds, but I do find you loud and distracting."

"You remind me of a rooster, crowing to his hens in the morning sunrise, as he plumes his bright feathers."

Sindel laughed out loud at the barbarian description of him.

"Perhaps you have been sent forth by the _Mountain Father_, to judge me. Or perhaps you have been sent by _Imhar _the Trickster, to make a mockery of me, although I have done that enough myself of late," the warrior said, still leaning a bit to his left, slightly off center.

"I am called _Acanthus_, son of Akaran, long of the people of the Snow Elk, born within the jagged teeth of the bitter cold Frostback Mountains."

"Drink! Share!" the man finished by extending his muscled forearm to Sindel. The elf rose and stood once more, embracing the arm grapple with the barbarian.

"You know, Acanthus, son of Akaran," Sindel said as he sat back down, "I half thought you might cut me in two with that blade of yours for a moment there, or at the very least craft me a new nose with your fist."

"Both images came to my ale doused thoughts Dhalish," Acanthus grinned again as he answered Sindel.

Sindel laughed out loud as he raised his tankard and took another long draw from the watered down ale of the Copper Kettle Rest and Tavern.

Meanwhile, Ozwulf, who sat across the common room at his own table, exhaled that long breath he had drawn in for what seemed like an eternity ago to the dwarf. Ozwulf breathed again in relief as the barbarian and elf embraced in clasped arms and sat down with smiles and laughter, much to Ozwulf's disbelief. This camaraderie seemed to cut back the tension in the entire common room as more than a few soggy patrons and the bar keep himself had all watched the exchange with as much interest as the dwarf had over these last few moments.

"Crazy wicked _luck_ that one be havin'," Ozwulf said under his breath, as he stared over at the chuckling elf across the room.

Ozwulf had known Sindel for some time now and had already whispered that same exact statement far too many times to call it a coincidence. Luck seemed to follow the Dhalish adventurer like a chick to a mother hen crossing an open field. It was uncanny the many times Ozwulf could remember his elven friend getting himself into a jam, only to have a bit of wild luck spring him out of it at the last moments.

Ozwulf had always taken such events as good omens and this was one of the reasons he had stuck with Sindel as traveling companion these past months. Ozwulf had been on this muddy dangerous road of adventuring for the better part of ten years and more since leaving his homelands. Much time had passed since he had left Orzamarr and Ozwulf considered a little luck as welcome company these days while out in the wilds. And although the pair had hit a rough patch these past few weeks, the elf's uncanny luck always seemed to find a way to make its presence felt.

"Course," Ozwulf thought as he sat back down and took a draw from his own tankard of ale, "luck be as moody an' fickle as a dwarven wife."

"Another mug o' this watery lather ye be callin' ale bar master," the dwarf barked back towards the barkeep.

"An' _Stone's Throw_, where be that soup I be orderin' already?"

The next few hours passed by in a blur as dripping water and shivering cold strangers blended with the watery ale and warm fires of the Copper Kettle. This magical concoction mixed together in a social brew and seemingly began to make strangers into friends. Spoken words in the common room began to slur and grow in volume. Laughter could be heard in many of the areas within the dim and dripping old pub as the night wore on.

The same strange transformation was rapidly occurring at Sindel's new table as well. Ozwulf had gotten bored of sitting by himself, shortly after his soup had arrived. The dwarf had wandered over to the far side of the common room and joined the table with the elf and his new large acquaintance. Introductions between Acanthus and Ozwulf were made and the trio fell into a range of differing conversations as the night moved on.

Ozwulf found himself liking the big Avarri warrior almost from the start, although the ale could have had something to do with the quick camaraderie. Ozwulf could sense something powerful, enduring, and yet also broken within Sindel's new acquaintance. The fact that the Avarri warrior had just set out this year on the path as an adventurer stirred up memories within the dwarf. Ozwulf thought back often to his first year on the road as an adventurer as the three companions poured over stories around the table.

The conversations detailing Acanthus' first night on the road, or of his first tavern visit in southern Ferelden, made Ozwulf smile and a warmth was felt inside the dwarf's heart at the re-telling of such events. The warm feeling kept the cold damp feel of the rains outside and at bay, at least for this evening.

"So, ye tribe lad, what they be callin' 'em 'gain," Ozwulf asked Acanthus?

"_Snow Elks_," Acanthus replied.

"Our homelands made their way deep within the Frostbacks Peaks. My people made our way of life in a beautiful mountain valley, steeped in color and life. Our grey elders called it, the great _Painted Saddle_."

"_Nice_! An' this Saddle be where ye village be found then," the dwarf asked?

"Nay," Acanthus replied in correction, "not a _village_ good dwarf."

"The Avarri people call it a _Hold_. _Ice Hold_ is what our elders named it. Within this Hold, this fortress, all Avarri consider each other as family, regardless of your mother or father. In that bond, our people are a force to be reckoned with to those that would oppose us. Unity is strength for us."

"So ye are kin then, all o' ye, least all o' ye in the _Hold_ then," Ozwulf asked curiously.

"Exactly, yes," Acanthus replied, "to enter is to enter as brother."

"There are many within the Hold that are blood relatives, but all within are treated as family. You may still have a mother or a father and still may have a brother. But now you find yourself with hundreds of cousins and half brothers as we see it."

"Intriguing," Sindel said, listening to the tale with great attentiveness.

"I grew up in a most different fashion, without such family bonds or closeness I'm afraid. I knew not my mother or my father as a child. The Alienage orphanage was all I knew until I left that place. I was a few years younger than you back then," Sindel said to Acanthus.

"_Alien_ . . . _age_," Acanthus stammered together, "what is this word?"

"A long and depressing story and not one for this very night," Sindel answered with a sigh, "for now, you can think of it as a place in a Ferelden city where the Dhalish live together."

"With no father, it must have proven hard to grow from boy to man, without one to teach you the ways of hunting, the ways of the spirits, and ways of your past," Acanthus guessed.

"The Mountain Father makes many challenges for all his children. Even with a father, all is not perfect within an Avarri Hold either. There are many obstacles there to meet and overcome, such as when you look for one to flirt and mate with. It is difficult to find such things when you have thought of one as a cousin or sister for many years growing up within the Hold."

"I had not considered that," Sindel said with a grin.

"I've told ye elf, jus' don't be _considerin_' anythin' at all 'bout wives an' mates an' such, tis bad for ye health," Ozwulf cracked back with a snorting hearty laugh that made Acanthus chuckle as well.

"There _are_ dwarven wives then," Sindel said with a mocking surprised look on his face?

"Aye, I be tellin' ye elf, we be sizin' up a stout lookin' stalagmite we be findin' in a dark mine, get down 'pon bended knee, an' take our wife then an' there, til death do we be partin'," Ozwulf rumbled out in a laugh.

"We be goin' through this all before ye cloud brain!"

Acanthus belted out in laughter again as the three companions continued swapping stories deep into the night. Acanthus told Sindel and Ozwulf of how he came to know the ways of hunting, tracking, fishing, and eventually, of fighting with blade, axe, and spear.

Acanthus demonstrated one exuberant example by placing his tree limb of a fore arm around Sindel's neck and then buckling the elf's knees from behind, sending Sindel crashing down onto the wooden floorboards in a pile of arms and legs. Ozwulf roared in laughter at the demonstration as Acanthus beamed in proud accomplishment. After Sindel picked himself and several spilled rain buckets up, he even cracked a faint hint of a wet smile himself at the warriors display.

As the night grew long, the big warrior told the tale of how he left the cold mountains depths for his path to become an adventurer. Acanthus told of how he did not leave on this path alone, but instead, left with his older brother and best friend, _Ragnum_.

"So it be ye _brother_ who convinced ye to be makin' the lonesome road ye home then," Ozwulf asked as Acanthus gulped another large swallow of ale.

"Aye . . . _Ragnum_ was his name, the best brother and teacher an Avarri could ever know," Acanthus said fondly, pain and love washing together in his far away stare.

"Ragnum was a legend with a spear. He could finish a buck from two hundred paces with a hard throw. He was better than most bowmen with his toss and twice as powerful of a death dealer."

"An' was it he then who be answerin' the call to bein' an adventurer then," Ozwulf asked?

"Nay, not exactly good dwarf, it was I who had the lust of an adventurer's way. It was good Ragnum who sought to shepherd me from danger, as any good older brother would."

"So where did ye an' brother Ragnum make fer after partin' ways with ol' Saddle valley an' the peaks then," Ozwulf asked.

"The low lands, near the _Emerald Hills_ of the south, what the lowlander's call the _Wilds_," Acanthus answered.

"I had just celebrated the new moon of my eighteenth spring when we made our way down the winter peaks and into the fields of the lowlanders."

"We met a man there, a strange traveling man, just outside of a small lowlander village. His name was _Kolbain_ and he claimed to be what the low land people call, _Chasind_. The small village was having a spring celebration to honor the planting of seed to field in the days when we first had arrived. The man, Kolbain, was several years older than Ragnum and I, and asked to join us in our travels, to help us learn the ways of the lowlanders and the swamp peoples both. It seemed he too was seeking adventure in those lands, much like us."

Ozwulf was caught off guard at how the barbarian boasted he had left on the new moon of his eighteenth birthday. Ozwulf marked the barbarian for a young warrior, but his dark mood at the beginning of the night and his battle scars left the dwarf thinking the Avarri was much older. Ozwulf had pegged the barbarian to be in his mid twenties easily, although that was proving not to be the case. Ozwulf also continued to hear time and again, how Acanthus always spoke of his brother in a past tense. The dwarf sensed this may have something to do with the Avarri's deep sorrows, but steered clear of the question for now.

"This life be not as pretty an' heroic as bards in taverns be havin' ye believe eh," Ozwulf said, staring at the many scars and marks that littered the Avarri's arms.

Acanthus nodded quietly in agreement and took another gulp from his mug.

Ozwulf took another swallow of ale from his own mug. He thought back to a saying the dwarves of Orzamarr had about the wandering life of an adventurer, as he stared at the young Avarri warrior.

"_Quick to glory and quick to riches, those that adventure, toil not in mines nor trenches. But wrought with danger is what they say, for those that adventure, live only half their days_!"

This was a common dwarven saying that Ozwulf had heard many times from his friends and family alike as he first brought up the thought of taking to this adventurers road. It was a simple but truthful saying. Life on the road could lead to wealth and glory, but it was always dangerous and often short lived.

Most adventurers found the shadowy black comfort of death long before their bones creaked of old age. It was a known and accepted truth amongst most of Thedas, dwarves and other races alike. Being an adventurer was a hard life and not one for the weak.

Ozwulf watched Acanthus as he continued to ponder the young man and his travels. Pint after pint, each story the barbarian told, peeled back another layer of darkness and remorse from the barbarian's mood that he had so deeply been steeped in earlier that evening.

Company was certainly a working remedy and seemed to be bringing Acanthus' spirit some needed balm. Ozwulf noted with each passing story that Sindel grew more uptight at not getting to the real core of what he had first been so interested in finding out about Acanthus. The fact that Sindel still did not know what exactly had brought the barbarian here, what battle he had seen recently, and why the young warrior was drinking himself into a lone stupor. All these questions still gnawed away at the elf.

And of course, there was still the leather cord and bag tucked into the palm of the Avarri's giant left hand. The maddening riddle within the riddle, Sindel continued to stare at it mug after mug, hour after hour.

Each time Sindel tried to poke and prod Acanthus towards the tale of the barbarian's most recent travels or about that leather corded pouch on his hand, the subject was met by silence. Ozwulf hid a thin grin several times across his bearded face, each time this happened. The verbal prodding continued well into the night, until the many pints of watery thin ale blurred together into a hazy, warm, laughter filled cacophony.

Eventually, the only thing to be seen within the common room of the Copper Kettle was the dark embers in the glowing fire pit and snoring patrons about the room. There were those that had rented a squatting corner or cot near the fire for the night and those that did not hold their ale so well. For the latter, they found their beds that night in chairs and under tables as best they could to keep out of the drifting spring rains. Either way, the shadows of deep night crept into the place, laughter died down in time, and the peaceful sleep of drink took hold upon the room until blurry dreams took hold. The plinking drizzle of the rain outside finally began to die down as evening turned to night and night into early day break.


	3. Chapter 3 - The Open Road

**Chapter 3 – The Open Road**

A kick to the padded shoulder of the dwarf startled Ozwulf awake.

Ozwulf's eyes blurred as he squinted at the sight of floating dust mixed with sunlight in the morning air. The Kettle's barkeep was sweeping about, tiding up the place for breakfast and brushed against the dwarf as he clubbed at left over bits of dried bread from last night's crowd.

Bowls, mugs, and trays clanked in piles as the man picked up the great mess while trying to sweep up the left over's that made their way to the floor instead of to the patron's mouths. Pale sunlight spilled its way into common room from many windows about the place that had been tightly shuddered and sealed the night before. Mini swirls of dust circled about in the sunlight as the bar keep continued his morning duties, to the chagrin of some of his more hung over still sleeping patrons.

"Must be mornin' round 'ere then," Ozwulf whispered sarcastically to himself.

The barkeep glanced over at the yawning dwarf and then returned to sweeping about the table, paying the complaining dwarf little attention.

"First light or jus' past it be me guess," Ozwulf said aloud as he squinted towards the nearest window to his left.

The dwarf stood, stretching a bit, trying to straighten out his sore back while glancing about the common room. Ozwulf's gaze turned downward towards his pack and gear, as he did each morning out of habit.

"Pack, crossbow, pouch, boots, belts, blades, an' elf . . . check, check, check, check, an' check," the dwarf mumbled as his eyes took inventory over his belongings. Everything seemed to be there, much as it was left the night before and as it should have been this morning. Ozwulf turned his attention to the sleeping Dhalish elf a few paces away from him.

Sindel appeared soundly asleep, half hugging the stone ring of the fire pit with his head resting on a folded up grey traveling cloak. Next to the elf, the big warrior, Acanthus, was already stirring in the morning light and glanced about groggily. The Avarri gripped his head near his temples as a bright beam of morning sunlight caught him in mid yawn.

"Hmmm, _bright_," were the only words to croak forth from the groggy warrior?

"Sindel, wake ye self ye blasted Dhalish," the dwarf called out to his nearby friend.

Sindel's head was half buried where the elf had stuffed his face into the grey cloak to avoid the morning light during his sound slumber. Ozwulf grabbed one of his heavy fur trimmed boots and tossed it at Sindel's head. The thud was greeted with a loud burst of colorful curses in the elvish tongue. This brought a grin to Ozwulf's bearded dwarven face.

"_Really_?" Sindel asked, after composing himself and completing his string of colorful elvish words.

"Time ta' rise an' shine lad, or so our generous host be sayin'," the dwarf chuckled as he began to dress.

Sindel shot the dwarf a sour look, but did not respond.

"Ye be knowin' that the cloak ye done be droolin' all over all night, not even be ye own, right?"

Sindel glanced down at the pale grey worn cloak that was balled up near where his head had been and poked at it. He then looked about at the other sleeping patrons near the fire pit and slid it over towards a grizzled grey bearded man that was still sleeping near him.

Sindel looked back at Ozwulf and shrugged with indifference.

"C'mon then, we've plenty o' miles to trek this morn if we be makin' Loggerswald by high sun o' the morrow. An' the rain be stopped as well . . . things be lookin' up fer us ye lucky elf."

The dwarf snorted a short laugh again as he saw Sindel rise and begin to begrudgingly gather his things. Ozwulf glanced over at Acanthus and the barbarian had a puzzled look upon his lightly bearded face.

The look was a stupor of blank and stark reality.

The look upon the warriors face reminded Ozwulf of an animal's face when it had just realized it had been felled by his crossbow while hunting. A realization that what had happened, had happened, and then a quick realization that few options other than dying . . . even remained. The animal would then just collapse or sometimes lay down and sometimes it would struggle a bit as it bled. Either way, it was only a matter of time for the beast. That was how Acanthus looked now, in the morning light of the new day, here on the floor of the Copper Kettle.

Ozwulf paused a moment and gave the situation some deeper consideration. As thoughts, possibilities, and consequences all tumbled around in the dwarf's mind, Ozwulf stared up at the tall warrior, looking him square in the eye. Acanthus noticed this and stared back at the dwarf in bewilderment as he could almost see the thoughts forming within Ozwulf's mind.

"Acanthus . . . _join us_ lad, Sindel an' meself that be," the dwarf said plainly, as he began to pull his other boot onto his foot.

"We be makin' fer a Ferelden village north o' 'ere the locals be callin' Loggerswald. Tis' said to be 'bout a day an' more from 'ere, by dwarven legs. Tis' a loggin' camp an' way station fer folk headin' further north from the way we be hearin' it."

"Sindel an' I be 'earin' tale 'pon the roads that there be work to be foun' there fer us sell swords an' adventurerin' folk alike."

Ozwulf laced up his heavy leather boots and now worked at his belt, laden with sharp daggers of all sizes. Before Acanthus could respond, the dwarf continued.

"The elf an' I 'ear o' jobs at this place that may be payin' an' payin' _well_ . . . silvers an' such, hard coin, not jus' caravan duties an' the like."

"We might be usin' 'nother companion, 'specially one versed in scappin' an' such. We be figurin' ye stature alone may net Sindel an' meself almost twice the pay, seein' that ye make fer an intimidatin' figure an' all."

"An' with three o' us, we may be pickin' up some work that we be havin' little chance o'gainin' with jus' the pair o' us, ye know?"

"The elf there, he not be portayin' much the look o' the intimidatin' hero, if ye be knowin' what I be meanin'. Him bein' Dhalish should really be countin' as only a half instead o' two of us, right lad," Ozwulf said with a snicker and a wink towards Acanthus?

"An excellent idea Ozwulf," Sindel added, "I was thinking the same thing myself, although without the insults of course."

"I cast quite the adventurous figure by the way, or so I am told."

Acanthus listened to the invitation with a quiet apprehension.

The request was something that the barbarian had not thought about or seen coming this morning. His face was muddled with surprise and deep thought.

Acanthus' mouth went dry as he continued to search for words in response, any words for that matter, but none would form completely in his mind. His thoughts raced back to weeks past and to darker times . . . to _Ragnum_.

Memories flashed within the barbarian's mind . . . scenes of battle, promises and betrayals, villages in distress, and then to even darker memories centered on his brother. Acanthus pushed them all away, back into a tiny locked up space deep within the corner of his mind.

"I . . . _cannot_ . . ," the barbarian stammered out his decline of the invitation, even as his eyes drifted downward towards the floor and his voice began to trail quietly into a croaking whisper.

"Now . . . ye be_ holdin' _that answer a moment lad! Before ye go turnin' me down as if I be that fat ugly sloth of a farmer lass that be askin' ye fer a smooch under the table las' night, let me be sayin' somethin' first," the dwarf interrupted.

Sindel chuckled at Ozwulf's blunt re-telling of some of last night's drunken happenings, even as Acanthus blushed slightly.

"Sindel an' meself, we be seein' that ye recent woes still be weighin' heavy on ye. An' I be knowin' that gettin' right back on the road be not what ye may 'ave be thinkin' to be the best thing fer ye right now."

"But, I be sayin' this, me thinks ye may could be usin' the company we are to be offerin' as much as we be usin' the extra muscle in seekin' some payin' jobs roun' these new places we be headin' out to."

Ozwulf paused as he finished the statement to the big warrior, staring at him openly while waiting for a response.

The words tumbled around within Acanthus and finally sunk in as he considered them for a long still moment. Sindel thought several times about adding to this heartfelt offer that Ozwulf had just extended, but after careful consideration by the elf, he thought it best to just remain silent. It was never his favorite choice from a long list of choices, but somehow, it felt the most appropriate for this situation.

"Well said Oz," Sindel thought, feeling very proud of the direct approach that Ozwulf had just shown, but also of the compassion the rugged dwarf had just extended to their new barbarian friend.

Sindel had seen this from Ozwulf a few times in their past. The dwarf seemed to have a gift for direct conversation that was genuine and could even be warm at times. This was a stark opposite from Ozwulf's sarcastic and rough exterior that most saw on display from afar.

Sindel often found that he himself had no problem with speaking in situations such as this, but often his own words came out as confusing, hollow, distant, or sometimes too pointed as they shot forth.

Sindel chuckled to himself as he considered how he might have put the offer out to the puzzled Avarri in front of them.

"_Acanthus, look, I am not sure what ails your soul, but if you tell me, I will tell you what to do about it. And then you could join us, as you look like you could use a friend and perhaps another chance at this difficult life. And we could use a big warrior to look and act the part. Now that it is settled, tell me of that damn leather pouch around your hand, before I stab you in the eye_!"

Sindel did what he could to hide his continuing chuckling to himself as he pondered the alternate version he created.

"I . . . I guess . . . I . . . alright then," Acanthus said with more than a little hesitation in his voice.

The response was in more of a shaky whisper than a clearly offered definitive answer. The warrior's eyes seemed glassy and his expression was one of fatigue, but of relief at the same time.

"I offer you both _my thanks_, although I think I may be a _curse_ upon you both," Acanthus said, his voice gaining some strength.

"Although our paths have just crossed, you have made me feel as if we had known each other from days past in the vales of my Hold. _The Lady_ truly blesses me with such friendship and kindred spirits. Perhaps she has sown an Avarri soul into each of you and you do not even know it. It is beyond me to even guess at such things."

Acanthus walked over and patted the dwarf on his shoulder in thanks, offering up a slight grin for the first time this morning. The warrior seemed bursting with emotion and collected himself before attempting to speak again.

"I am not sure what trick this is from _Imhar's_ many pranks or if this is yet another test from the _Mountain Father_ himself," the barbarian said. "But my wounded soul tells me to listen to your kindness and travel this path with you . . . for now."

"Excellent," Sindel beamed.

"Here, 'ere," Ozwulf added.

"I am not _weak_, although my emotion shows it at present, and I can hold my own against any five men in the ways of battle . . . this I _promise_. I can offer you these things as we travel as companions and I vow to do my best to not make the same mistakes I have made upon this path before."

With that, Acanthus shook his new companion's hands in thanks and then continued to pack up his gear. He spilled the last of his copper coins from his pouch out onto the bar to settle their tab as he finished gathering his goods.

"And so, here we are then . . . three strong I believe?" Sindel said with a content look and a broadening smile upon his face.

Ozwulf shook his head in disgust at the elf's gloating look.

"Just as someone may have predicted we would be . . . two nights back I believe, my sour, short, complex, smelly little dwarven friend. Let me just ask you, do you _ever_ grow tired of me being right," Sindel cracked?

"Yeah, yeah, I be getting' tired o' a lot o' things 'bout ye elf, that be fer sure," Ozwulf grumbled as he finished packing his own gear up.

"Ye dreams an' predictions be but some o' them things an' that list be too long to be discussin' right now. Let's be on the road 'fore ye start grumblin' 'bout predictin' what this place be offerin' fer breakfast eh."

"_Breakfast_," Sindel teased?

Packing up the rest of their belongings, the three companions left the Copper Kettle early that morning, just after dawns break. They headed out to the north upon a muddied trail, seeking rumored glories and wealth, just over the next horizon.

The new spring morning proved drier than the last few had been but the companions found the wagon rutted mud caked trail to be slow throughout the day. Sindel continued to carefully poke and prod at Acanthus about how he came to this place and what had happened over the past few weeks to bring him to their chance meeting. Each time, Sindel was again met with silent glances down to the muddy trail or by an awkward silence followed by a change of conversation. Acanthus continued to hold to his silence on his recent tribulations, the battles that had taken place, and about what ever recent events had left him so scarred, both physically and emotionally. The tall warrior also continued to hold tightly to the small leather pouch that remained corded around his large left hand. He gazed at it often enough as the trio walked along the muddy trail north.

Ozwulf took it all in stride as he walked the day away. He led the way most of the time, his sturdy short dwarven legs plodding along at a rapid pace through the muddy grind. The details and circumstances of the barbarian's recent history were not of great concern to the dwarf. Ozwulf admired how patient the young warrior was being with Sindel, who could be annoying, at times, and ridiculously intrusive at others. Ozwulf knew the trails and taverns of the world were littered with broken dreams and wounded hearts from adventurers of all breeds and sorts. Ozwulf believed, in time, the Avarri too, would share his tale.

"When he be ready, he be sharin' what happened, to him an' his brother," the dwarf thought to himself.

Ozwulf continued to take opportunities along the days travel to speak to Acanthus about the area they traveled across. The young Avarri warrior had little knowledge of these lands or the Ferelden customs and people as a whole. To Ozwulf, Acanthus seemed out of place here in Ferelden and far from his natural element in the far western reaches of the great Bannorn.

Field after field passed along to the west of the muddy wagon trail as the companions continued their trek towards Loggerswald. Some were filled with wheat's and grains while others were untended and grew full of tall green and gold grasses for as far as the eye could see. Occasionally, the companions would see a distant farmhouse set somewhere amidst the tall endless field. Several times during the days trek, the companions swapped stories with passing wagon merchants heading south or traveling wanderers heading north as they were. It all blurred together as the long grind of the day moved along. The trio continued their long muddy walk hour after hour until the sun lay heavy against the western horizon and fatigue pressed deep into their weary legs.

As the sun began to dip into the horizon and shadows began to grow long against the copses of nearby trees along the eastern stretches of the trail, the companions made camp for the evening.

The group found a clearing in a field, not far off the westerns skirts of the trail. The temporary camp clearing came with a couple of downed logs rolled to its center point and a ring of stones that other travelers had seemingly used over time as a fire pit.

Each of the three companions went about unpacking their packs in silence. They gathered up spare wood from the ground near a few trees near the clearing and started a small but warm fire. It was then, to the popping wood of a small camp fire that the companions sat down and enjoyed a well earned rest after a long trek.

Ozwulf and Acanthus dug out strips of cured and dried meats they had in their packs for traveling rations. Sindel nibbled on some dried apricot slices he had bought at a market in a village south of the Copper Kettle. The nibbling calm of the camp continued for a short time as each of the three adventurers relaxed and enjoyed the cool clear spring night air. Ozwulf scanned the skies and was pleased to see no signs of threatening spring showers on any of the horizons. Just a clear purple amber glow and dark silhouettes to paint the distant lands and allow the blackness of the night sky to envelope the world.

"Why do the lowlanders call this trail we are on, _the Edges_," Acanthus asked, referring back to a conversation they had with a farmer a few hours earlier in the day.

"I see no cliff or mountains or ravines near this endless stretch of open fields. Just tall yellowed grasses in endless supply to our west and naught but tall trees in a great line, like an awaiting army, to our east," Acanthus continued.

Sindel stood up, finishing his slice of dried fruit, pleased that the silence of the camp had been broken by the warrior.

"A fair question my big friend," Sindel answered. "You see, we travel pinched between two great landmarks of the mighty Ferelden held lands."

"To the west of us," Sindel said as he pointed to his left along the starry purple black hazed horizon, "is the great _Bannorn_."

"This great stretch of endless farmland sits within the heart of Ferelden, where plentiful stores of grains, wheat, oats, and other things are grown in bountiful quantity. One can find endless families of farmers upon endless plots and hills of farmlands tending to the needs of the great Bannorn."

"To our east," Sindel continued, "rests the dark reaches of the ancient _Brecillian_ Forests, the ancestral home to my proud people, _the Dhalish_."

"That ancient wood stretches out as far as you can imagine, until you reach a great coast of golden sands and foamy salt seas. The blue of the sea along that stretch is so deep and pure; it is like staring into the richest azure gems you could imagine. It is a thing of great beauty."

Acanthus seemed enthralled by Sindel's imagery of the land around them as his eyes moved in unison with Sindel's hands as Sindel pointed about the dark horizons, as if the Avarri could see what Sindel was talking about even in the black depths of the night.

"As to your question, we sit here, between the two. Our trail though, finds itself winding and wrapping its way between the great golden stretch and the deep woods across from us."

"Hence the locals name for this trade way, _the Edges_. The locals often say, stray even a foot further east off this trail and one will find themselves cloaked in the deep shadowed canopy of the _Brecillian_, its elvish spirits singing haunting melodies of the ancient past."

"She holds a special place in my heart. Although I was not born there, I feel as if my soul blossomed from this place."

Sindel seemed to pulse with an energetic heartfelt glow as he finished his tale.

Ozwulf noticed the performer coming out in Sindel and this too was something the dwarf had seen many times before. Ozwulf rolled his eyes as he worked his water skin free from his pack. Acanthus was still encapsulated by Sindel's words and sat quietly in reflection. The tall warrior stared out into the starry night sky to the east with wide searching eyes.

Sindel seemed to practically glow as he stared out to the east into the darkness. It was as if Sindel were staring into the vast reaches of the deep woods instead of just a dark horizon beyond the rim of orange light that was their camp.

For a moment, Acanthus was lost amidst the starry night sky and the warm glow of the campfire, as Sindel's passionate words had the warrior thinking back to his own homelands. Acanthus could see the snow rimmed rocky peaks of the great Frostback Mountains in his mind. He could see the mountain lakes that shimmered like mirrors of silver against the bright high tundra sun, the layers of thick green pines that blanketed the steep slopes along the Saddle's valley, and the great high meadows of the tundra, set ablaze with tiny bright orange and red wild flowers this time of year.

"_Bah_, jus' 'nother set o' firewood an' spare axe handles if'n ye be askin' me," the dwarf spat as he gnawed off a hunk of dried pepper coated venison. The hunk of meat was so salted it made the dwarf pucker his face into a knot as he chewed it.

"_Hardly_, bitter dwarf . . . hardly," Sindel replied with a sigh, continuing to glance out into the east towards the dark purple and black glow.

"One day, I would see my people's return to these great ancestral woods, to live within its bounds, to have dreams there, and to be free within their shadowy embrace once again."

"To see the elves again turn to nature, to practice the ways of the old elven gods, to smile within their homes and enjoy their freedoms like the days of old! Would that be too much to ask, good Acanthus," Sindel asked, still staring east.

Acanthus broke his day dream and stared up at Sindel. He was not sure he had an answer to Sindel's question and had only heard part of the last bit clearly as he was still lost in thought of his homelands. He sat quietly and did not immediately respond and Sindel was still not looking at him as he continued to peer into the dark skies to the east.

"Is it too much to ask for an elf to dream to see his kin set free, _truly_ free I mean, wandering the woods as they see fit," Sindel asked aloud.

"To not be constrained by nobles or churches or laws of _human_ men. To not be looked down upon in villages and towns as you walk through them."

"The kind of look that says, oh my _Dhalish_, you are exotic and beautiful to our eyes, yet, be sure you understand, you are _beneath_ us of course. And by the way, do not _steal_ anything while you are here."

Sindel spat into the fire as he finished the last bit, his face twisting into a look of short tempered frustration. He was no longer staring to the dark horizons of the east but instead staring into the small fire below him. It made his eyes glow in red reflection and sparkle, his form outlined in an orange glow.

Something in the image of the elf made Acanthus' eyes grow wide with concern. As Ozwulf watched, he believed he even saw a hint of fear in the big warrior's visage as Acanthus watched the angry Sindel. It was a puzzle for sure to the dwarf. Acanthus continued to stare at Sindel cautiously and finally spoke.

"Your people Sindel, they are . . . _slaves_ then, _the Dhalish_," Acanthus asked, choosing his words carefully while keeping to the point.

"_Humph_, so it be seemin' eh . . ," sighed Ozwulf, a look of sarcasm displayed openly upon his bearded face.

"Yet, here we all be, eh . . . elf included? Free in the lands, free in the taverns, free to be wanderin' 'ere an' there 'pon adventures as we be seein' fit. I be seein' a distinct lack o' chains hangin' from the necks o' all three o' us, right?"

"Oh _yes_, Acanthus, listen not to the dwarf and know that my people are indeed _slaves_," answered Sindel, nodding as he spoke and ignoring the dwarfs open sarcasm.

"Perhaps we are no longer slaves bound in chains, with whips beating bloody marks upon our broken backs, but slaves of a different and more subtle nature to be sure."

"We _Dhalish _are slaves to our past, forever mocked by deeds in the sayings and preaching's of liars and ghosts. Marked by sins of ancestors now long passed and persecuted still today without evidence or opportunity to our defense," Sindel exclaimed as he stared with a piercing gaze down towards the barbarian.

The look seemed to catch Acanthus a bit off guard and for a moment, the warrior wondered if he had done or asked something terribly wrong or offensive with his question. Ozwulf caught the awkward look upon Acanthus' face and just shook his head in stubborn disbelief.

"_Easy _there, crazy one," Ozwulf said to Sindel, "be no need to be getting' all worked up so early in the evenin'."

"The lad there ain't used to ye ramblin's on said topic, so . . . _kindly_ be puttin' the fire an' drama back in ye pouch fer later performances eh?"

"If it is of any solace to you Sindel, my people, keep no Dhalish slaves in our Holds," Acanthus offered, trying to soften the mood as Sindel's eyes glowed with an inner fire matching the hot coals of the camp fire below him.

"This is well received news indeed my friend; it warms my heart a bit to hear those words," Sindel said softly, his mind lost in the moment to his passion.

"I wish all of Thedas were as your people then."

"Perhaps and perhaps not," Acanthus countered.

"We are no perfect people either; some of the Avarri clans do take slaves as spoils. When those Holds raid the lowlands during the spring storms of the new thaw, they sometimes take these prizes as slave women, or as laborers and workers for the spring fields. Some Holds even take slaves as food during long winters."

"But, we have no _Dhalish_ that I have ever seen. No Dhalish walk the foothills of the Frostbacks with any frequency, so rarely have I seen one taken as slave in the Avarri Holds I have seen."

**-** _Cough_ ! –

Ozwulf choked down the bit of dried meat he had been working on.

Acanthus' response caught the dwarf off guard and he tried to force down the hunk meat he had swallowed as it moved sideways in his throat. Acanthus caught the strange choking look from the dwarf and looked puzzled. He wondered again if he had said or done something wrong with his response.

"I did not say my Hold practiced such ways, just that my people, the Avarri, have been known to do such things. Spoils of war are taken and used differently by each Hold," Acanthus said, trying to defend and explain his statement in more detail.

"The Avarri see all these lands beneath the shadows of the great Frostbacks, as their own. Those that live beneath the great peaks are seen as natural adversaries and prey. As such, when the Avarri conquer those foes in battle, those that are taken are seen as spoils to some of my people."

"The Avarri believe the strong should rule and those that are weaker are to be used as they see fit. This is true in Avarri life, as it is in wilds, and that is our way," Acanthus said proudly.

He looked up into the night sky as he finished, but not before catching a glimpse of Sindel. The elf was no longer lost in thought, but instead, staring straight over at the barbarian. Sindel broke the stare and looked back over to Ozwulf, who had cleared his throat of the meat, but still looked uncomfortable. Acanthus wondered if the look on the dwarf's face was from the stuck meat or more from the conversation itself.

"You see Ozwulf; even the Avarri people know sins of their past and the pride of their people's ways. As I have said before, we are all marked in this life before we are even born into it. Our look, our past, our father's wealth or station, all drive our destinies even before we know our first words!"

"And this is where we Dhalish are born unto our slave bonds. Born to it, into a society of liars and oppressors," Sindel hissed defiantly.

Ozwulf had heard this rant many times before at many camp sites on many open trails these past months. He let it all blur together now under the camp fires smoky orange haze. The wet wood the trio had collected was pouring off more than a little smoke as it popped and cracked in its warm glow.

"Yep, I be hearin' all this a plenty already elf," the dwarf said stoically as he prodded the burning embers of the small camp fire a bit with a long stick, trying to even out the wet log of wood that was pouring smoke.

"We be born, we be grovelin', we be getting' beat an' whipped a bit, an' then we all be diein', that 'bout sum it up there elf?"

"_Mock_ if you will Oz, but we are all condemned even before we draw our first breath, us Dhalish just feel it with a greater severity," Sindel replied.

"_The Avarri_ people, to be hated for their raiding ways even as they practice these ways as their fore fathers passed down to them. These warriors, taught to take vengeance against those that would take their Mountain lands out from under them, called _brigands_ and worse by some. And as they defend their land, their rights, they are branded as murderers or slavers or worse."

"Or how about the _dwarves_ if you do not like the Avarri example . . . your very own people," Sindel asked?

"Oh, how they like to mock and outcast those that walk in the sky filled lands above their home, those like you. What we call adventurer or merchant, your own people mock as _casteless_ and seen banished from the great rock under cities of their homelands."

"Not exactly how it be workin' ye blasted . . ," Ozwulf tried to respond, but was cut short by Sindel.

"And of course,_ finally_, my people," Sindel said, again flourishing dramatically with his hands.

"Yes, _finally_," Ozwulf interrupted, "the elves! _The Dhalish elves_," Ozwulf moaned over dramatically and fell to the ground, clasping his chest as if pierced through the heart with an invisible arrow shot from afar!

"I be glad that this show, almost be comin' to an end."

Sindel seemed to pay the theatrical sarcasm with little heed, turning instead back to the camp fire, ignoring the dwarf for the moment.

"_Yes_, the Dhalish, the most deeply condemned of all of Thedas' races and cultures. Cursed and enslaved at birth for believing in something other than _the Maker_ and his _Chantry_! Kept low by human hands for deeds whispered about in a time long ago. Our lands _taken_, our freedoms _dashed_, and here we are left to wander forever marked as betrayers and persecuted as those without honor," Sindel spat out angrily, his temper as hot as the embers within the fire.

"Did you know Acanthus; we _Dhalish_ are not even allowed to be part of the sacred Chantry or of their brotherhood, the Templers?"

Acanthus shook his head, shrugging his shoulders in response. The barbarian was confused whether or not Sindel was really asking him his opinion or if the wild elf was just speaking out loud at this point. Acanthus was also feeling out of place as he was only familiar with a few of the things Sindel was ranting on about. It was all very foreign to the Avarri warrior.

Sindel did not seem to mind Acanthus' silence or lack of an answer, as he continued to preach his point aloud.

"In an Age past Acanthus; the Dhalish were hunted down at spear and sword point by the Chantry. Put to_ death_ and driven from our lands, held in open bondage and worse. And although slavery in Ferelden lands is outlawed, I still feel a slave, even to this day. A slave to disdain and contempt," Sindel said.

"And some of us, we find ourselves condemned _twice over_ in this dark miserable world."

"What for you ask? For the way we are born, before we even draw our first breath. How is that justice, how is that right I ask you? I plead now, aloud, to this human god, this _Maker_, how is that as he intended and built this world," Sindel finished in another flourish.

Sindel remained quiet as did the others, all reflecting on the words Sindel had just delivered.

Sindel finally caught himself as his passions had spilled out into the tiny camp and although Ozwulf had heard much of this before, Acanthus was new to Sindel's true pains and feelings about his heritage.

"_Some_ . . . are condemned _twice_ _over_, I do not understand your meaning," Acanthus asked?

The elf stared down at the fire as if the camp and the warrior's question were each a thousand miles away.

Ozwulf's eyes grew wide wondering how this exchange would unfold. Sindel had let his fiery passion filled speech carry too far and now had revealed too much too soon. Like a small hungry animal set into a snare from poking about at a baited lure, Sindel had let slip a secret of his heritage that he had not meant to.

Sindel had almost let out that he was not just an adventuring Dhalish elf, son to no parent that he knew, an orphan as a child and brought up in a Denerim Alienage from birth. No, Sindel had almost let loose the deeper and less known secret about himself, the one revealing his true and darker birthright.

Sindel was a _mage_.

And an _Apostate_ mage at that.

And the young barbarian warrior, Acanthus, had seemingly caught part of this. Or at least was struggling with the confusing wording within Sindel's theatrical recant.

Either way, Ozwulf was not sure what was going to happen next.

The Avarri people were not set with the traditional knowledge or formal rigidness of the Chantry laws of Ferelden, when it came to magic use and mages in general. Ozwulf was not even sure if Acanthus knew what a Circle Mage or a Templar was as opposed to what Sindel was, an Apostate mage. He was not sure if the Avarri warrior had even heard of _the Maker_ and his _Chantry_ in the far off icy lands of the Frostbacks. But, the Avarri people as a whole knew of magic and this was well known.

The Avarri had great shamans that could perform the healing arts to wounded warriors injured in great battles as well as powerful magic's that could conjure up great storms and bouts of severe icy weather. Many of the Avarri people called this _Spirit Magic,_ or the _Old ways_ of the mountains, and some called it the words of the _Speakers of the Dead_.

Magic was a gift in the Avarri culture, given to but a chosen few. To practice this spirit magic within the living Avarri tribes was seen as a blessing from their _Mountain Father_ or the other gods of the Avarri, such as _Imhar the Trickster_ or the great _Lady of the Sky_. The Avarri people treated spirit talkers or magic wielding shamans as blessed members of their tribes, to be greatly respected and even in some cases, feared.

Sindel had kept his status as an Apostate mage locked tightly to himself over most of his lifetime. It had taken Ozwulf weeks of traveling with the elf before he pried forth a confession from him, but it was not something easily obtained or revealed the Dhalish. There were great consequences and dangers traveling the open roads with a mage, doubly so, for those traveling with an Apostate mage.

Would the elf now, so casually, here on the open road with this new companion he had known only for a day, reveal his true heritage Ozwulf wondered? Play chance that the Avarri would not react poorly to this dark revelation? In the wrong company, such a gamble would prove costly to Sindel in particular. If this note was revealed or offered to a member of the Templar's or Chantry, it could be held as _heresy_ here in Ferelden and met with the penalty of death for the offender! And in some cases, death to those that aided this refugee mage!

"Ahem . . . yes, _twice_ _over_," Sindel answered softly, regaining his composure a bit as his tone was now tempered with restraint.

Sindel had realized his overstep even as the words shot forth from his passionate lips. Sindel's cheeks flushed a color similar to the fiery coals beneath him in the camp's fire.

"Once for being an elf born to a city Alienage and once more for being born with a wild tongue filled with uncontrolled bile. And I should feel thrice condemned now for loosening that contempt upon those that do not need to hear such mad ravings."

"_Apologies_ Acanthus," Sindel offered.

"You, my friend, are undeserving of such frustrations and fevered rants as the ones I carry about my heritage," Sindel lied as his voice trailed off in the cool night air.

Ozwulf smirked slightly as he kept quiet, respecting Sindel's privacy, even as he admired the quick thinking of his elven friend.

The barbarian did not counter or question Sindel and left the conversation quiet as the trio split watches and eventually drifted off to their sleep. If the Avarri knew of magic or if he even knew what the conversation had almost stumbled into, neither the dwarf nor the elf knew it, as it was not spoken of again this night.


	4. Chapter 4 - Loggerswald

**Chapter 4 – Loggerswald**

Late the next afternoon, the trio set their eyes on the horizon and their gaze was met with smoke from many camp fires set in the edges of the tree line to the east. The village of Loggerswald was in sight from what they could make of it. The companions walked with a renewed energy as they took in the myriad of scenes leading up the village's center area. Loggerswald seemed to be a bustling enough area of activity as men, horses, wagons, and carts were coming and going into many trails within the thick woods leading deeper into the forest to the east. It reminded Acanthus of ants coming and going in streaming lines out to forage from their dirt hill home.

In the western most reaches of the area, the companions noticed a large area of bare grounds near the forest tree line. In this area, large fields of trees had been cleared and now blended with open spaces of tall grass fields of the Bannorn to the west. This area was the most populated by activity and collected the most traffic it seemed.

There were dozens and dozens of people grouped in this cleared area at all times, like a great fair or bazaar. It was clear to the companions it was being used to stage finished logs of wood and to sell them to merchants who would load them upon wagons and cart them off to all parts of Ferelden.

This staging area also contained a processing area where loggers and workers were taking the tall raw downed trees that had been forested and were now trimming them clean. The workers were busy removing loose branches and roots or any other debris that could be plucked from them before they were to be sold. This entire western reach area of Loggerswald was a cacophony of wood pieces, tree limbs, busy workers, and business transactions taking place all at once, a literal symphony of commerce.

Several large wooden buildings could be seen around this western area processing and staging camp. Sindel made out a large field dotted with animal hide and canvas cloth tents in an area just north of this processing area. It looked to be where temporary, new, or seasonal workers lived or stayed while in Loggerswald. These workers would find jobs day to day, processing trees or joining logging bands, as they went off a week or more at a time to log timber from the surrounding Brecillian Forest.

"There, I be seein' an Inn me be thinkin'," Ozwulf said out loud as the three companions watched the many sights' around the large camp.

"An' the head man's manor as well, I be guessin'"

"The elder of this Hold," Acanthus asked?

"Nay, not so much," Ozwulf answered as his eyes continued to rove about at the many details about this place.

"The head man be the one 'ere with the mos' coin an' perhaps, influence. "

"He be the one that be pairin' the merchants with the logger men an' helpin' to strike the deals fer all involved to be makin' coin. Sometimes, he be loanin' coin fer payroll, sometimes, he be makin' deals with local Bann's an' Arl's seekin' timber. He be makin' his cut on each deal he be strikin'."

"An important lad in the wheel ye could be sayin'."

"I ain't to be seein' the Bann's manor jus' yet, how 'bout ye elf," Ozwulf asked Sindel?

"Nay, not yet," Sindel replied.

Acanthus had just heard so many terms and references in that answer that he did not understand even half of it. But he kept it to himself for now as Ozwulf and Sindel were already moving forward, deeper into the bustling camp.

Off set a bit further away from the processing area, Ozwulf noticed several other free standing structures nearer to the shadowy tree line at the far eastern edges of the area. These structures looked to perhaps be a livery, a trading post perhaps, and maybe a few permanent cottages or houses. It seemed as if that copse of structures were built deeper in the actual woods themselves, creating the image of two halves or sides of Loggerswald itself.

The western side, which appeared as a sunny, open aired, bustling area of trade and work. And the eastern side, which seemed a shadowy, dark, quiet little area, nestled into the fringes of the Brecillian. The scene gave off two very different views and two very different feelings blended into one extended village.

"Well, this looks promising," Sindel said as he stood in the center of the two splitting and distinct areas of Loggerswald. Still in the sunny clearing, but only a few paces from the tree line's edges that were steeped in shadows.

"Exciting, much to do I would say, wouldn't you?"

"I think we should have a look about and see what the word is about camp."

Sindel's eyes were already darting to and fro looking about at the many comings and goings of the variety of workers and merchants alike.

"That be soundin' right. I be headin' to the trader first me thinks," Ozwulf said as he pointed to one of the buildings near the wooded eastern span of the village.

"I be havin' those pelts still in me pack, from our huntin' outside o' _Torchmeadow_. Perhaps I be findin' a home fer um' here an' pick up a bit o' coin in return. That may buy us a bite of warm food in our bellies this evenin' with any luck."

"Well I am going to mill about the loggers camp and see if the Head Man's has a job board posted. Perhaps he is seeking out more than just spring loggers and laborers here." Sindel said as he pointed over towards the tent strewn fields to his left.

"Acanthus, do you want to come with me or stick with Ozwulf for now," the elf asked, wondering if the young barbarian was a bit awestruck with the comings and goings of the camp.

"If it is all the same to you good Sindel, I will wander a bit," the barbarian said as he continued to glance about the logging camp.

"I have never seen such a place as this. It is like a field of honey bees hungry for the tundra's first wild flowers. I would walk around a bit and take it all in for a time."

"No worries lad," Ozwulf quickly said as he grinned and began to walk towards the buildings to the east edges of the shadowy wood, "Let's be meetin' back at sundown at the Inn o'er there."

"Chances be we can be findin' a warm meal there later this night. Scour about an' find out what ye can. I be workin' the Tradin' Post an' the Smithy there."

"Sindel, ye take the Loggers rest camp an' the Head Man's camp."

"Acanthus, ye enjoy ye look about an' keep ye ears open fer gossips amidst the folk. Ye never kno' what rumors be out there that may lead to a profit an' job fer us eh?"

Sindel and Acanthus nodded in agreement as each of the three merged into the swarming ant like streams of people and went their own separate ways amidst Loggerswald.

Ozwulf pushed his way through the tall folk and bustling array of loggers and travelers alike, finally leaving the busy western processing area. Ozwulf broke forth into the thinning bands of people as he went further east towards the shadowy canopy covered eastern edges of the village.

Ozwulf made his way towards a two story wooden building he had guessed was the village Trading Post. He noticed it had a built up porch, lined with tools and wheel barrows. A set of wooden steps lead up to a large heavy framed door which was propped open. A young boy, dirt stains streaked about his cheeks, stared with wide eyes at Ozwulf from the porch.

"_Allo_'," the boy said still staring at Ozwulf as he got closer to the building.

"Greetins' _dirt boy_ 'ow goes ye afternoon then," the dwarf said playfully, never breaking his stride as he clanked up the wooden stairs to the porch and its open doorway.

The young boy shrugged and tensed, offering no response as Ozwulf passed him hurriedly.

Ozwulf proceeded inside the small mercantile building glancing about at what the store had to offer. A local man stood by the counter offering some barter to a pair of men who looked to be Ferelden, but not locals of Loggerswald. Ozwulf watched as the pair tried to sell the proprietor some bags of animal feed or trade them at least, for some goods the men had collected upon the store counter.

Ozwulf glanced about the small shop and paced through a pair of aisles. Each aisle had piles of goods stacked on the floor and at each end. Some piles were filled with bags of seed and grain; other areas had crates of crafting supplies and metal goods. Along the aisle ways themselves were sets of shelves where smaller quantities of goods such as lantern oil, water skins, dried rations, arrows, leather pouches and packs, and other frontier goods rested. Near the back of the store show room was a small display of leather armor pieces and several bows that hung on pegged wooden racking. The shop felt small to Ozwulf, but seemed to have a solid array of different goods it was stocked with.

There seemed to be plenty to offer in the cramped store if you were a logger or craftsman or perhaps even a farmer or sorts. But items a dwarven adventurer may find intriguing for his craft were few and far between. Ozwulf would have loved to have seen a set of razor tipped white oaken crossbow bolts or perhaps a new set of master crafted shaped and formed thieves tools for lock picking, but such things were not going to be found in this local frontier post.

Ozwulf grabbed a hand full of tree climbers foot holds, little more than six inch iron spiked pitons, as well as a new leather skinned water flask. Ozwulf then walked over to the counter area where the three men were still bartering over the feed and other goods.

Ozwulf considered bolting right into the negotiation without much patience or courtesy as was his way, but the dwarf paused for the moment. The men and the shop owner were speaking about more than just a bartered deal and the dwarf knew he had wandered into something with a little more meat to it. Ozwulf waited now, listening in, as the two strangers continued to haggle over animal feed and a fair price they were seeking.

"The two bags o' feed an' five copper small's ser, tis our generous an' more than fair offer to ye." One of the pair said to the store owner.

"All we's askin' for is tha pair o' short blades, they be barely huntin' knives as is. Jus' enough ta take down a buck, not man killers or the like."

"Them there are quality razor edged daggers, stranger, forged with high caliber metals at the Smithy's livery next door. They will serve you more than well, whatever you find yourself doing, and with that pair of blades and the back pack, I am telling you I need the two feed bags and fifteen coppers. No less," the owner of the trading post countered.

"Fifteens," the first man exclaimed?

"I'm tellin' ye Ser," the other man in the pair pleaded, "Ye price is not far off our mark, an' we can pays it, but we can only pays ya ten coppers now perhaps an' the other five when we get back with our just rewards."

"That Head Man of yours, and the Inn master, they both is boastin' twenty five copper a head bounty on all bandits caught within the woods. Ya sells us those sharp knives ya got there and the two of us will be off in the woods but a day or three an' back with proof enough to collect that bounty an' to pay you what your due an' make us a tidy profit, ya sees? That there tis a solid investment opportunity if there ever be one!"

"_Humph_," the trading post owner mocked, "Hardly!"

"More likely _Sers_, you'll never come back at all, or will be found later, dead from bandit arrows. Or you will sell those well crafted blades after a day or two of meandering about, for a cask of whiskey and a hot bath with a tavern wench. That is more likely!"

" I will pass on '_yer best offer'_, now take your feed and go ask the Head Man for a loan of the other five copper and perhaps we will see business done. See what he tells you both," the proprietor finished, sending the chastised pair on their way as they grumbled complaint after complaint on their way out of the little post.

"Now Ser dwarf, how can I assist you," the man asked as he turned towards the waiting Ozwulf?

"This 'ere new leather water skin be needed an' also a few o' these tree walker's pegs," Ozwulf responded as he placed the goods he had selected on the wooden counter top.

"I also be havin' these I be seekin' to part ways with, if'n ye be interested," the dwarf said as he un-slung his pack and pulled forth a handful of silver and black lush furred animal pelts.

"Ah . . . yes . . . let me have a look then," the proprietor said as he took them from Ozwulf's hands and placed them flat on the counter next to the goods Ozwulf had needed.

The shop owner separated the pelts one by one, stroking them with the back of his hand for imperfections. He then smelled them each for odor. When done, he raised an eyebrow and eyed over Ozwulf, who was still standing quietly in front of him.

"A bit of nice silver fox tail and some bush raccoon pelts I see . . . I might be interested," the store owner said as he eyed the multiple pelts over with a degree of scrutiny.

"That last one there be winter cloud osprey, it be a rare find indeed fer these parts an' fer this time o' year," Ozwulf pointed out to the man.

"Hmm . . . oh . . . I see it now, yes, you are right Ser dwarf. You seem to know you're trapping and your pelts. What are you asking for price then?" the man prodded, still eyeing the pelts and pondering some initial thoughts on a price in his head.

"What ye be seein' 'ere on the counter in trade an' another two in silver moons," the dwarf said promptly, clearly enjoying the haggle of the barter at hand, as many of his kind often did. Ozwulf knew he was asking for a handsome sum for the pelts, but banked on the heavy traffic of people that he had seen throughout the village. Ozwulf hoped the owner may need the stock of pelts for business as he saw few furs in the store at present and lots of people in the labor and trade areas around camp.

"Your pelts are nice, I give you that Ser dwarf, but your price is as steep as the tall castle spires in Denerim! Some of the finer ones will only sale to merchants in these parts, not common loggers and the like," the man countered, "half your price and we may be shaking hands on these goods yet. I can offer the goods you selected and a silver moon, that's a fair shake I think," the man said as he folded his arms.

"Fair shake . . . it be true enough, but I be no fair dwarf. I be a poor dwarf ye see in front of ye, an' one in need of a new water skin an' some hard coin for me hard earned prizes." Ozwulf said calmly.

"I tell ye what good trader, ye can give me the goods, a silver moon of hard coin, an' a half moon in trade credit to be usin' on supplies 'fore I leave this village. An' also, I be havin' the name o' the men the previous pair o' blokes be speakin' of . . . this inn keeper fella' an' head man who be offerin' bounty for bandit kills an' the like. Me be thinkin' that would be me final offer me good man."

The store owner pondered the steep counter offer for a moment or two as he stroked the fine set of pelts one more time, easing a bit from his defiant stance. Counter offers, numbers, coins, clients, and other things drifted across the store owner's face as thoughts rushed through his mind.

"_Brinn_ . . . his name is Brinn ser dwarf. Ser Brinn owns the Shady Rest Inn and it is he and Head Man Dotson who are offering the bounty on bandits about the Brecillian," the man said as he pulled forth a parchment. The shop owned inked a quick agreement on the store credit and then fished out a silver hard coin to complete the transaction.

Ozwulf grinned as he put the small silver moon shaped coin away and shook the store owner's hand to finalize the deal. Ozwulf had done well netting almost twice over what he had hoped when he walked in.

"Loggerswald must be doin' well enough 'ere this spring as coin be looser 'ere than a tavern wenches' corset," the dwarf thought to himself as he stowed away the pegs and new water skin from the counter. Ozwulf departed the trading post.

Ozwulf left the wooden porch seeking out the sounds of hammered iron coming from the livery. The building was within eyesight and just a little further east, deeper into the woods. Ozwulf had some ideas for the set of climber's spikes he had just traded for and wanted to see if the local smithy might craft his specific ideas into form. Ozwulf was curious as to how much the Smithy might charge for such a request.

Before the dwarf made it the forty or so yards to the next building east of him, a rustle came from above. The bristling noise was soft and came from the large tree branches forming the canopy above Ozwulf. Shadows danced subtly over head and from behind him.

The sudden noise left Ozwulf feeling anxious and curious at the same time. The dwarf kept his head forward and strained his ears for a moment. The movement had sounded like an animal or large bird perhaps landing on a tree limb in the canopy somewhere high above him. The noise of the rustling limbs as well as other nearby forest noises had seemed to vanish now as everything in the area went quiet. All except for the ringing of the smithies hammer against his anvil off in the distance.

"Too large fer a raven or crow . . . huntin' hawk perhaps? Might even be a large squirrel or coon, but t'was quiet an' it be high 'bove fer sure," the dwarf thought to himself as he moved forward a bit at a cautious pace.

Ozwulf continued his slow walk another ten paces or so and saw the shadows on the ground beneath him reflect movement again above him. Ozwulf thought he saw a form this time, a shadowy thin form, more man than beast perhaps?

Ozwulf believed he was being followed or stalked, that much was for sure, but, why, how, and by whom, all were left to speculation. Ozwulf continued towards the black smith's livery with a regular pace once again, straining his senses as he went, hoping to gather more information and cause the stalking shadow to move once more.

Ten, fifteen, twenty paces more he counted and Ozwulf heard the rustling again above him. Something light moved in the trees, moving quickly, and whatever it was seemed padded in soft leather. The stalking shadow had kept him in sight since he left the trading post and now continued to follow him as he made way towards the livery.

Whatever it was, it moved from tree limb to adjoining tree limb in soft leaps and it had to be at least thirty plus paces off the ground. It would move when Ozwulf moved, so the dwarf knew that he was definitely the target of interest. Ozwulf continued cautiously, finding himself just a few paces from the livery now.

Another soft padded thump and the shadows danced again around the ground. The stalker had just moved from a tree branch and jumped down upon the wood and metal roofing of the livery. The stalker appeared light in weight and moved quietly for something with size, but not silent enough to avoid detection from the well trained ears of the dwarven adventurer. And whoever or whatever this was, seemed to know nothing of light from above filtering through the canopy and making shadows on the ground below. This was a dead give away to Ozwulf as he stood just under the livery's wooden porch, considering the options at hand.

With a silent and fluid single motion, Ozwulf moved his large crossbow from his slung pack and placed a bolt quietly within its mechanisms. Ozwulf tightened the bolt securely and pulled back the tension bracket. He timed his motion and mechanics with the ringing of the black smith's hammer against the pounded metal of worked iron. By the third hammer of his count, the dwarf was ready to strike! Ozwulf drew in a breath, watched for the shadow to creak out just an inch of shifted weight against the thin metal creasing of the livery roof, and then he gently squeezed the trigger of the crossbow.

_CLICK . . . TWING . . . SHA-CHINK_!

The crossbow bolt whizzed up into the wood and thin metal roof hutching of the livery porch and straight through it into the canopy shadowed sky above. A scream followed the missiles rise as a startled thin form fell from the roof top above, down onto the ground below! It landed with a not so graceful . . . _THUD_!

"_Maker's breath_," a young female voice cried out.

A squirming thin figure sprawled out on the muddied ground in front of the livery, just a few paces from the dwarf.

Ozwulf had not moved from his position against one of the beam supports beneath the hutched roof and now watched on as his stalker had been revealed and laid low into the mud below.

"You could have killed me, you _savage rock biter_," the young girl exclaimed as she stared up from her prone position on the ground.

The girls face was splotched red and wore a flustered expression as she quickly went from a prone sprawl along the muddied ground to a full crouching position with one single, graceful motion. The young woman looked at her palms and back side with disgust as both were caked with thick dark wet mud. Flecks of the dark stuff were splattered in her hair and along her neckline as well.

"Never any chance o' that happenin' lass," Ozwulf replied to the girl as he re-slung his crossbow, his stance softening as he did so.

Ozwulf could tell the young woman's pride was more injured from the fall than her form.

Ozwulf stared for a moment at the young woman. He figured her to be perhaps fifteen or sixteen years of age perhaps. The girl appeared to the dwarf as thin, almost gangly, but athletic in her frame. The girl had sandy blond hair the color of spring honey and she wore it long, but pulled back in a tied knot that rested upon her back and shoulders. The wind looked like it kept the honey colored hair in tangles more often than not. The girl looked the part more of a young man than that of a proper lady of her age, although Ozwulf guessed this may have been the young women's own intent rather than mere coincidence.

"Ye shouldn't be sneakin' up o' strange dwarves an' the like, by the way," Ozwulf said.

"That could 'ave ended poorly fer ye instead o' just a bruise or two to ye rump. An' be sure lass, I missed ye on purpose, that be fer certain!"

"I be seenin' ye weight shiftin' there 'pon the roof as ye inched about. That thing be made o' thin metals an' they bend differently than wood when weight shifts on em', ye see?"

"Ye were an easy mark for me," Ozwulf continued, although he was not sure the young woman was listening to the advice he was offering to her.

The girl, still in a state of fluster, just stared at the dwarf as he offered up the assessment. She did not know whether to punch him, turn in fury and stomp off, or simply just remain quiet and listen to the advice as it was being offered. This left her in an awkward stance in front of the dwarf with a confused look upon her face as Ozwulf continued.

"I knew where ye feet be even as ye landed up there. I also be knowin' that ye had most o' ye weight on ye back foot as ye be standin' up there on that thing."

"Ye be standin' upright was what I be guessin', as ye kept yer balance well enough. Once I made me shot, only ye rump was in any real danger from the fall. An' ye could 'ave protected that piece of ye a bit better with a more graceful landin' I be thinkin'," Ozwulf snickered a bit as he said it.

"Have ye no balance lass? No tumble at all in ye body ye silly girl," the dwarf said teasingly as he beamed a mocking grin across his bearded face.

Ozwulf noticed the young woman's face seemed caught off guard at the blunt question. The girl blushed with embarrassment and remained still for the moment. Ozwulf chuckled at the young woman's indecision. He could see her pride was wounded and that she was not used to the criticism.

"I will have you know I am quite silent and have scores of kills on many hunts! And another thing dwarf, I have the balance of a nimble tree cat on its best day," the young woman shot back as she straightened out her stance and seemed to rally confidence, letting the blush of embarrassment wash away.

"I was only . . . testing myself . . . against your exotic dwarven hearing; a bit of a challenge you could call it and one I could not pass up when I spotted you earlier at the post," the girl said.

"A challenge failed if ye be askin' me," Ozwulf mocked playfully, "An' dwarves don't have no special hearin', so that be a useless test lass."

"I jus' be better than mos' in that department. Ye may be quiet as a tree cat, I give ye that part, but the way ye be movin' in the trees be a dead giveaway fer those ye be stalkin' below! Ye still 'ave a bit to be learnin' 'bout huntin' ye pray from above I be guessin'," the dwarf said.

"I give ye credit though, not many in this place that could even be climbin' that far up in the trees, much less jumpin' about from one to 'nother like that. Tis an impressive set o' skills to be sure!"

"Although I be not sure I would call stalkin' dwarves from thirty paces above em' in a tree much o' a useful skill, unless ye were that tree cat ye be speakin' of," the dwarf chuckled as he said it.

"What be ye name then, lass," Ozwulf asked, offering the young woman a hand in greeting.

"Dellya . . . _Dellya West_ Ser dwarf . . . of Loggerswald," the girl responded offering a slight and tanned hand to the dwarf. The girl relaxed at the gesture and suddenly seemed full of energy and questions, but held them back for the moment.

There were many things Dellya liked right away about Ozwulf. His obvious skill, his honesty, and there seemed to a kindred spirit amongst the pair that both seemed to grasp onto. Ozwulf was not the first dwarf Dellya had ever met, but he was the first one she had ever liked before. Dellya's eyes drifted towards the polished wood and silver metal crossbow slung on the dwarf's back. It glinted in the shadowy sun and seemed steeped in power and promise to her!

"_Ozwulf_, not master, not Ser," the dwarf responded as he let go of Dellya's thin hand, "jus' be callin' me Ozwulf."

"Now lass, is this 'ere smithy 'ave any talent in his craft? What can ye be tellin' me o' him?" Ozwulf asked as he headed to the other side of the livery towards the hammering metal ringing still driving against the anvil in the back ground.

The girl followed Ozwulf like the scent of warm apples in the air from a fresh baked pie pulled fresh from a baker's over. Dellya was filled to the brim with curiosity and excitement with this new stranger. She was not about to lose sight of this fascinating dwarf that had come to Loggerswald. It was rare that Dellya had a chance to meet someone here that held similar interests to her own. To be able to spend some time with a real adventurer and someone with real talents, was not a chance the young woman would easily let slip away from her. Not at least until he had answered several hundred questions from her that were all springing to life in her mind.

On the other side of Loggerswald, Sindel moved about the swarming meanderings of countless loggers and merchants. He listened in on dozens of conversations over the course of the afternoon. Sindel overheard the haggling for timber contracts, the discussion of current prices for wagons of cut wood for sale, dozens of requests of contractors and agents sent by their respected Bann's from all over the Bannorn to purchase lumber, the many complaints of aches and pains from sore arms and backs bemoaned by the multitude of laborers around the logging camp, and much more.

It seemed to the elf that each new corner, each new meadow of ground, and each new cluster of men, brought a series of new tales to Sindel's ever curious ears. It was quite intoxicating to the Dhalish elf and the afternoon seemed to rush by in a blur of noise and lore.

Sindel had even overheard some details about the recent bandit troubles the camp seemed to be having this year. From what he gathered, the troubles had started somewhere deeper within the woods, during the heart of winter. Somewhere near the forward logging camps that were much deeper in the furthest reaches of the Brecillian. The troubles had started with just some raids on a few forward camps and a couple of missing scouts, but the troubles worsened and had spread over the past months all the way to Loggerswald itself. These bandits and brigands seemed organized and ruthless. There boldness of late had lead to the elders and wealthiest within the village to begin offering hefty bounties for the bandit's deaths. Sindel also noticed a very obvious lack of conversation from the locals as to what the Bann was planning or had even done of late to quell this threat from the deep woods.

Sindel continued his wandering, from story to story. Some villagers would converse directly with him while other gossip would be overheard by the elf, as some wanted nothing to do with the Dhalish as he passed along. Some folk offered a courteous nod, others a tight lipped cautious look. And as it had been for all of Sindel's adult life, there were some that would cast that familiar glance down at the Dhalish elf, even as he approached.

The look would be full of quiet loathing and stern judgment. The look offered Sindel one simple but distinct feeling as it was offered . . .

"_What do you want elf . . . you slave . . . are you here to steal food from me, or perhaps beg for coin? Rotten dog! Good then, grovel for it you worthless beast and we shall see what mood I am in to offer you a scrap as you pass! Or perhaps I will give you the back of my hand if it pleases me!_"

Sindel politely moved past the strangers that offered him this look, keeping his disgust and true feelings hidden deep within his thoughts for the time being. Sindel was used to such occurrences, but still felt the anger rush within him each time it happened.

Sindel slowed as he noticed a conversation taking place ahead, between two men in passing horse drawn wagons. The elf heard an intriguing bit of gossip and could not help but focus as he moved a few feet closer to the nearest wagon. It had slowed to a crawling stop so the driver could speak to the other, before moving along.

"Well met Bare," the first man said with a smile!

"Thomas," the second man said with a nod and a returned grin.

"What news ye be hearing of prices and such," Bare asked.

"Improving, 'specially with the taxation being salted out. That be about the best thing to happen to Loggerswald since the end of last fall," Thomas replied.

"Tis well an' good I says, me friend," Bare said, nodding his head in agreement.

"That long nosed blue blood, _Valen_, was just keepin' them heavy taxes, month after month, and not doin' a thing to aid us in our plight! His time had come and gone, that's fer sure."

"Aye Barry Breasin, right you are there," the other man said. "Loggerswald's been without a Bann for almost two moons now and little ill has come of it. The bandits still may be out and about, but at least no yellow cowards are profitin' our hard earned coins to their estate while they sit back and let arrows litter our kin 'til death!"

Sindel's twitched slightly and pawed at the back of his head to shoo off a buzzing fly that had landed on him. The passing exchange between the two men sunk in as Sindel listened on. This was unexpected news and not without consequence to the elf and his companions.

"Loggerswald was currently _without_ a Bann?" Sindel whispered the revelation softly to himself. If this information bore true, there would be much for the group to consider.

The new bit of news would bear some further investigation for certain and was a cause for concern on many levels. Political upheaval and mob rule was never good for business or anyone else really for that matter, not in the long term. And this news was counter to what Sindel and Ozwulf had heard a fort night or so ago, in a village south of here that traded frequently with Loggerswald. That village had claimed the local Bann of Loggerswald was a human noble named _Valen Falore_ and that Valen had governed over the village for years.

Sindel began moving again, leaving the men behind in his wake. The elf was determined to dig up more on this rumor if he could, before meeting the others this evening. As he continued to play out the whys and multitude of scenarios involved with a bandit ridden logging village without a Bann, he glanced about and noticed he had wandered deeper into the maze like field of tents that was the laborers field camp. Sindel looked around as he slowed, hoping to find a way through the cluttered area of temporary housing when he noticed a small, dirt stained cloth tent, not so different than the dozens of others nearby.

Sindel paused at this one though as the front flaps of the pale sun tanned tent were folded and pinned open and the little hovel's interior could be seen clearly from those passing by in front of it. Sindel gazed at the open tent and noticed that the little shanty had a small cot within its narrow confines, a ring of stones placed for a small fire pit in the dirt near the entrance flaps, and a couple of old pieces of stained cloaks that were being used as make shift blankets resting upon the cot.

Sitting next to the make shift blankets upon the cot was a pale skinned, slight figure of a girl that was resting in the shadow of the tent fold. All Sindel could see was an array of colorful green ink, patterned with splotches of gold fill, artfully played out along a young girl's pale arm. The mesmerized elf stared at the beautiful piece of skin art for a moment, forgetting for a second it was attached to the arm of a stranger. Or that the young woman was now staring up at Sindel, watching him stare at her painted arm.

The inked tattoo was of a flowing green dragon with golden eyes and golden scales intermingled within its green elongated serpent like body. The tattoo flowed from the girl's wrist all the way up her slender arm and ended at the top of the girl's bony pale shoulder. It was quite elaborate and exotic looking. Sindel thought it even stranger to see such a work adorned by a young Ferelden _girl_ in a _logger's camp_. Sindel's mind started wandering from thought to thought, filling in gaps with assumptions quicker than the questions could be formed. He was interrupted by the girl's voice.

"Eye catcher isn't _she_?" the young woman whispered out towards the staring Sindel.

"_Indeed_," Sindel responded in a hushed tone, still eyeing the piece of skin art on the girl's arm.

"What do you call _her_," Sindel asked as he caught note of the girl's gender phrased question.

"_Destiny_," the girl responded, her pale face revealing a slight grin, framed around some patch work stains of dirt upon her cheeks.

"Her name is _Destiny_."

A thousand thoughts popped into Sindel's mind as he stared hard at the image. A thousand more replaced those as the girl had mentioned the dragon art by name.

Old thoughts, memories of long ago, dark thoughts of a time long buried for the elf, all mixed about in Sindel's mind. He had to catch himself quickly from mentally tumbling down into an anxiety filled rush of old memories. Sindel breathed in deeply and adjusted his eyes back into focus. He tried to find his center in the moment as he continued to stare at the beautiful imagery.

Sindel broke his stare after another breath and caught the grin of the young woman who was staring back at him. The strange young woman had long dark thin hair that was kept, but frayed and poor in condition. Her frame was slight, too slight, as if the girl had not seen a solid meal in weeks. The girl's appearance gave Sindel the thought of a pale scarecrow, about to tumble over from its post from a strong burst of wind. Her cheek bones were high and sunken, leaving deep shadows to blend with the dirt that stained her face. The girl's eyes were large and curved, like a cats and they were of a pale olive green hue that locals called _hazel_. Sindel thought the color blended well with the green scales of the serpent art along her long slender arm.

Sindel marked the young stranger as exotic, "Definitely _not_ Ferelden", as he first had guessed. "_Nevarran_ perhaps or maybe _Antivan_ even . . . how intriguing," Sindel thought to himself.

The girl could pass for eighteen or nineteen years, but Sindel guessed she may have been younger. It was tough for the elf to tell from just her ragged looks.

"Your _Dhalish_," the girl posed the observation to Sindel as more of a statement than a question.

"_Indeed_," Sindel answered, again staring at the impressive artwork, this time taking in more details on her forearm and wrist, where the dragon's head could be found in flowing magnitude. Sindel was having a hard time taking his eyes away from the detailed piece of art.

Sindel had always admired this type of body art. Some of his Dhalish kin called works like these, _Blood Writing_, or in the Dhalish tongue, _Vallaslin_. Dhalish sometimes marked themselves in this way, not only for cultural respect and remembrance of the old ways, but also to mark their loyalties to the _Dhalish Spirits_ of a forgotten time.

Sindel had always admired the skill to craft such fine works of art and symbols of heritage upon one's self. The colors, the meaning, the artistry, had always been in held in great honor for Sindel. He had often pondered acquiring some of his own, but had yet to find the calling to mark himself with such blood writing, nor the artist to place them upon him.

"Are you offended by this place then Dhalish," the girl asked, still sitting, looking up at Sindel with her large hazel cat eyes.

"_What_," Sindel answered, cocking his head a bit at such a question as that. "What do you mean girl?"

"Well, here we are," the girl paused, pointing about at the many tents of loggers nearby, "out here in _your _woods, chopping down _your_ trees, making coin from _your _people's rightful home. And here you are, watching it all happen and without offer of work or coin for your own pouch. And even more likely, probably just the brunt of passing jokes as you wander seeking honest work. Am I right?"

Sindel took a half step back at this last statement. He was not offended by the assumptions but more caught off guard at the bluntness. This strange youth appeared wiser than her years and was not merely sharing conversation about her tattoo with a passing stranger. Sindel believed he was being tested.

Sindel took this as a calculated prod at his own virtues and back ground, as well as his presence here in the tent fields of the logging workers. The girl seemed to be sizing him up for information, not so unlike his own practiced techniques.

"Indeed," Sindel thought to himself as he widened his clenched jaw to a thin grin towards the young woman.

Sindel regrouped his composure and no longer saw the tattoo, just the girl sitting quietly in front of him.

"Poor, trashy, alone, bright, calculating, aggressive, practiced, rough edged, hiding things, secrets, pushed to the fray, defensive," he thought to himself.

And Sindel could also clearly see the large chip, squarely placed atop her figurative shoulder, between the dragon skin art and her large hazel green eyes.

"What is one to do, dear girl," Sindel asked meekly with a shrugging slump of his shoulders, "I am but a lowly city elf, wandering this human land in search of what men will leave me in their scraps and conquests." Sindel said cautiously, trying more to provoke a response from the girl than freely giving up anymore of his own true thoughts.

The girl smiled thinly at the reply, immediately recognizing the game was afoot and that Sindel had seen through her prodding. She seemed to lose interest just after the recognition as her eyes went to the ground, like the winds had left her sails all the sudden.

"They call me _Sayeth_," the girl said softly, "if they call me anything at all."

"I am sure you can relate Dhalish. Sometimes, this world cares little for one such as you or me. If I am lucky some days, they call me by my name, others times, it is just . . . girl, beggar, harlot, retch, trash, or whatever comes to their little minds."

"You are alone then here," Sindel asked, almost disheartened that the game had dried up and died on the vine so quickly, even before it had begun.

"All my life, not just here . . . orphaned, you see," Sayeth replied, albeit cautiously to the elf.

The girl had been thrown that question a time or two since coming to this logger's camp of rough laborer men. It had not always worked out pleasantly for her as some men's questions were not always of concern and framed with innocence. The fact that she was alone here had sometimes made her easy prey for predators about the camp.

Sindel caught this look as she responded and saw fragility there for the first time, in her hazel eyes. It was a gaze he was all too familiar with from his many years in a Denerim alienage. At that place for city elves, you were constantly reminded by those around you that even when you thought you were strong, smart, careful, and free, your were always wrong. In that place, there was always someone there to beat a reminder into you that your were still only a city elf and still in an alienage.

Take out _elf_ and replace it with _orphaned girl_ and the same statement was now evident in the young woman's eyes to Sindel. He understood the gaze and its deeper meaning immediately.

"This is a rough place to be alone in, I would guess. But, I bet you can handle yourself ok, unless I miss my mark," Sindel said.

"I am Sindel by the way," the elf said with a nod, "a traveler of roads and wanderer of the lands, on pilgrimage for coin and adventure, or whatever else fate has planned on my road that day."

"Well met Sindel the Dhalish adventurer," Sayeth said, her eyes watching Sindel now with some intensity.

"It was tough for a while when I first came to this place;" the girl paused as she spoke, "but I have overcome such challenges. I have found the best way to make a name and defend myself was to take advantage of whispers and rumors that prey upon an enemy's weak minded fears."

"Spoken like a true survivor," Sindel replied.

Sindel took in the statement and wrapped his mind around it for a moment. Sindel felt a natural kinship to this strange young human girl. His path had not been so different at her age and probably no less kind.

"Do continue young Sayeth, you have me all ears," the elf teased.

The girl smiled a thin grin back towards the elf. Sayeth then looked past Sindel and glanced about the nearby area for a moment before she continued.

"I took advantage of a coincidence of sorts and started a few of those rumors myself you see. Before you knew it, no man would bother me, unless I wished it. They now call me _Witch Girl_ around here, although only in whispers, and never to my face," the girl beamed with a sinister grin upon her pale smudged face.

"They are very superstitious around here you know."

Sindel winced at the cover she had chosen and at the superstitious nature of the locals. Both pieces of information were of great interest to the elf.

"I am surprised the frightened rubes did not turn you in then, to the local Chantry, I mean," Sindel said.

"Some, especially those weak of mind and intolerant to spurning, would be quick to shout _Heretic _while they fetched the local Templar or Chantry Sister. At least from my experience with such ilk," Sindel stated flatly.

"A fine point," Sayeth said in response, "But one I have never worried about around this place."

"The local Chantry is made up of only _one_ Sister and she is a frail shell of a woman herself. I have seen no sign of Templar's in these woods since I arrived."

"The Sister is a tolerant soul, one that would rather take pity upon an orphaned young girl mocked as a witch because she does not wish to be harassed by brute loggers. She is not one that would burn the orphan girl for heresy. This Sister of the Chant even brings me food when needed, so I do not think I have to worry about that too much Sindel elf."

"Hmm . . . perhaps. You see, they brought me food for a time too, back in my days in the alienage in Denerim," Sindel said abruptly.

"That does not always work out so well, trust me there. There is always a cost to such generosities. Usually it is to be found in the form of a tedious lesson or a beating from those in charge, depending on their mood."

"Come then Sindel, sit a moment with me, straggler to straggler, and let us talk more. I feel there is much wisdom I could hear from you and perhaps our meeting was not just coincidence, but more like," the girl paused and looked at her dragon tattoo.

"_Destiny_," Sindel finished the girls pause?

"Perhaps," Sayeth responded offering a slight smile again, "Sit and I will tell you what you want to know of this logger's camp and its many silly secrets."

"That is what you search for, unless I guess wrong. I have watched you this past short time and notice that you listen often and speak little as you meander."

"Indeed," Sindel replied, "you strike close to your mark young Sayeth".

With that, Sindel sat down, intrigued by his new acquaintance and looked forward in gaining insight on Loggerswald from Sayeth the Witch girl.

"Perhaps the girl knows of the Bann and his plight with the bandits," Sindel thought to himself as he stepped into the little tent and sat next to Sayeth on the cot. "Lucky our paths crossed . . . good fortunes indeed!"

Acanthus had spent the last hour or so wandering around the large forested camp, exploring the processing area, walking about some of the tent fields, and exploring the edges of the woods around the village proper. He had seen Ferelden villages before, but not like this. Most were small, little more than a few farms of tended crops around a stone and mud well. There would be a single militia watch man near the village perimeter and perhaps a few logged fences here and there around the outer reaches of the village.

The last village Acanthus had seen that was this large was the one far to the south, near the edges of the Kocari Wilds, where he had been a month or more ago now. And that place was not one that Acanthus would surely forget.

Acanthus' memories drifted into a shadowy array of images in his mind. He could once again see a festival the village was having when he had arrived, weeks ago. Groves of people mulled about colored tents, music played in the open fields of new spring oats, the faces of the many villagers filled with happiness of the breaking of the long winter's cold. The images in his mind played back as he slowed his steps. The darkness that had gripped him at the tavern two nights back threatened to once again find him and take him back into that dark, lonely place.

Acanthus shook his head violently and tried to clear his thoughts as he continued about the edges of the forest. He glanced down into his palm at the leather cord and small leather pouch he cupped in his left hand. Gripping it tightly within a clenched fist, he trudged forward, not caring at the moment where he went, only seeking something other than his own dark thoughts at present.

"_Ragnum_," he thought to himself, as his sight wandered down to the tightly wound cord and pouch yet again.

An image of the face of his older brother, of Ragnum, tumbled through his mind.

Acanthus shook the thoughts clear once more and pushed forward boldly through the shadows of the deep wood. Misty eyes now made way for a narrowed and angry defiance.

Acanthus continued this pace until he noticed something ahead past the next series of ancient trees. A home or cottage, something off set in the woods ahead. Acanthus noticed a small worn dirt path leading up to the small stone house that was adjoining a chapel of sorts.

The markings were somewhat familiar to Acanthus. This was a house where the Ferelden people worshipped their god, _the Maker_.

"A holy place . . ," he thought to himself as he stopped completely, staring about the quiet little structure.

Acanthus wandered a bit closer, looking upon the rows of trimmed hedge, the planted flowers in the front gardens, and the stained glass windows in the small cozy stone chapel. The entire scene seemed to have a warmth or welcoming feel to it that seemed to snap the barbarian from his dark, pressing memories, at least for the moment.

The front door to the stone chapel was open and although darkened within, Acanthus saw flickering candle light dancing somewhere in the darkness beyond. The bobbing specks of flame seemed to dance in unison like fireflies at dusk. The scent of mulberry wafted out from the chapel and seemed again, warm and inviting to the big barbarian. Acanthus wandered up to the doorway and ducked a bit as he advanced inside the chapel.

Inside the small chapel, Acanthus could see about a half dozen rows of wooden pews set in front of an open worship area at the far end of the rectangular long chamber. Along the edges of the pews were lit braziers, burning the pleasant mulberry scent Acanthus smelt. The entire room was dimly lit by the many candles flickering about and the room was covered in a thin blue grey haze from the brazier smoke. Candles flickered along the window sills of the stained glass portals along the outer wall.

At the larger open area in front of the pews, Acanthus saw a stone statue of a woman in a priestly hooded flowing gown. The statue woman was holding a long unwinding scroll as she looked up in reverence towards the heavens. At the base of the statue were another half dozen lit gold dyed candles flickering in the gentle breeze following Acanthus from the open door leading outside. Wax dripped about the base of the statue as the large candles overflowed here and there as they burned. The entire setting seemed somewhat surreal to the Avarri and in many ways, peaceful. Acanthus glanced about, taking it all in, as his mood calmed even more in the darkness of the small chapel.

"Welcome stranger," a woman's soft voice floated in from behind Acanthus, "I did not see you come in."

The voice was like chords of soft music playing from afar. Acanthus turned and saw the figure at the door was a Ferelden woman of middle age, not so much younger than his mother. The stout compact woman had dirty blonde hair worn short, just touching her shoulders, although her white hooded cowl covered much of it. The woman had dark blue eyes, like deep centers of a high mountain lake, almost black in the dim light of the shadowed doorway. She wore the vestments and hooded cowl resembling the statue's own garments, although the woman's robes were not a grey stone, but instead an off white with golden stripes.

Acanthus noticed that the woman's eyes looked kind to him, but were also hiding a deeper sadness somewhere within. Her face looked weary with deep lines along her eyes down to her cheeks. It was a weariness in those that did not rest well at night, as if dreams haunted her sleep. In the shadows of the doorway, the woman's face looked a dozen years older than her true age to the warrior.

Acanthus stopped staring and immediately felt out of place. The warrior felt almost ashamed, as if his presence here was an intrusion to this holy place. His instincts wanted him to crash out of the nearest window and make a run for it to avoid his awkward discovery. But instead, he just tightened his muscled frame and drew in a breath, searching for what to do or say next. Nothing came out. He was not even sure what brought him into this foreign place, as he knew little of this foreign faith or its ways.

And yet here he was, caught peeking into some other cultures holy place, confronted by one of the holy shaman's of this place! Acanthus hated the interruption, cursing his own curiosity, and again the thought of blasting through a nearby window for the deep woods raced through the Avarri's mind.

"Breathe easy barbarian," the woman soothingly called to Acanthus, sensing his tension and his loss for words.

"That is, unless you seek to do me harm with your powerful form and very large sword."

Acanthus shook his head from side to side, finally letting out his breath and taking another one in. Again, words could not be found at the moment to answer the woman.

"Alright then," the woman said as she continued inside from the doorway of the chapel and moved closer to Acanthus.

"My, you are a large one, an Avarri perhaps, am I right?"

Acanthus nodded up and down this time, feeling more like a child than a barbarian warrior at the moment.

Acanthus could not get the nervousness to loosen his form or his tongue. There were too many questions the barbarian feared this strange priestess may ask and too many more questions the barbarian had already been confronting himself with even before the woman arrived to interrupt his curiosity.

The big warrior took another breath in deep and finally some of the tension dispersed. Enough so that he could feel his mind loosen and words began to form on his tongue once more.

"Forgive my intrusion priestess," Acanthus blurted out.

"I should not find myself wandering about in your holy place. I have been tricked by _Imhar_ himself it would seem and know not how I find myself in this place or what I seek here."

"It is _the Maker _young one_,"_ the woman answered in reference to her deity, "this is his place of worship. And he has a strange and varied voice he uses on us all, my friend."

"You are not the _first _nor will you be the _last_ to wander into this chapel with that look you now wear upon your face," the woman said calmly.

"I have seen it all too many times before to question things. So, do not apologize for transgressions where none have been committed. Please, be at ease, relax a bit."

"What do they call you?" the woman asked.

"_Acanthus_, son of Akaran, born of the Snow Elk tribe of the Frostbacks, priestess," the warrior answered the woman, bowing his eyes a bit in reverence.

"Ah, I see. Then I am pleased to meet you _Acanthus_, son of Akaran, born of the Snow Elk tribe of the cold and forbidding Frostback Peaks," the woman said quietly as she was now within arm's reach of the tall barbarian.

"You may call me, _Sister Plyasenth_. I am a Sister, or what you call a priestess, of _the Maker_ and of his faithful holy betrothed, the _Lady Andraste_."

"This is their house you are in and all here are welcome to pray, to reflect, to learn, to give thanks, and to lift burdens that they carry inside them, if they wish to," the woman continued softly to Acanthus, so close the barbarian could smell the honey sickle sweet scent that wafted up from the Sister's gown.

"Now, what brings Acanthus, son of Akaran, to the Maker's house this day and what burdens do you need lifted from such mighty and powerful shoulders," Sister Plyasenth asked?


	5. Chapter 5 - Opportunity

**Chapter 5 – Opportunity**

"So ye are really an adventurer then," Dellya asked Ozwulf for the third time.

The pair of new friends had been going back and forth the entire last hour or so while waiting for the smithy to finish the modifications the dwarf had requested to his climbers spikes.

Ozwulf grinned again, "Aye, I be tellin' ye a 'undred times already if it be not more!"

"An' stop askin' that as if I be some kind o' royalty or some pile o' glistenin' treasure . . . t'ain't what ye think it is! Be trustin' a dwarf on that there fact lass!"

"Bah, ye walk a glorious path master Ozwulf," Dellya countered, still looking up to the open sky as dreams of grandeur paraded through her head. Thoughts of the open road and great adventure each and every waking day filled the girls head with grand collages.

"I bet ye tip gold coins and rubies when you're in the big cities, like Denerim!"

Ozwulf just rolled his eyes at the statement from the young woman, shaking his head slightly as he did so.

"Long day's marches, from dawn til dusk, 'pon muddy trails an' foot paths, while the rains be drizzlin' an' pourin' down on ye head all day? Watered down ales at every tavern, long conversations with sour Dhalish elves bent on getting' ye killed at every turn, an' let's not be forgettin' local brat's stalkin' ye from rooftops as ye go 'bout mindin' ye own business," Ozwulf mocked.

"Tis all a bit over rated if ye be askin me an' not a life ye would make out as glamorous, as ye have been doin' this entire afternoon long!"

"Are ye sure ye are not a bard in trainin' or somethin'," the dwarf teased?

"I hear what you are saying Ser dwarf, still, I think the life of the adventurer would be the best life in the entire realm," Dellya answered, trying to defend her stance on the subject.

"Adventuring each day, a life of wandering freely from place to place, practicing and honing your skills, living on the open land as you choose, and meeting new people upon every new horizon."

"That would be a most excellent way to find one's self each day as they woke to this world."

"None o' that which ye jus' described, ever be happenin' by the way," Ozwulf grumbled as he pushed his thick beard down under his tunic.

"Bah," Dellya said with a giggle.

"Here, in Loggerswald, I feel . . . _trapped_, not so unlike these many trees you see around us now."

"Sawing and chopping, loggers arguing with hagglers, woods and more woods . . . it is all rather boring each day, always the same. It's depressing at times. You should play that role for a day or two Oz. Then you would see the misery you describe."

"I be seein' ye point lass," Ozwulf said, still playing with his coarse beard.

"I sometimes feel as if I am a tree, standing, waiting to be chopped down, with little I can say or do about such things," Dellya finished this last statement with a fluster, her face puckering as if the young woman had just sampled a ripe lemon.

"Ye seem smart enough lass an' not at all unskilled, I give ye that. Ye will find ye way here at some point in the near future, I be sure o' it," the dwarf offered.

"Probably catch the eye o' some young handsome woodsman fella or some Ferelden nobleman 'fore long if I be havin' me guess on such affairs," the dwarf teased.

"Ooo . . . _yuck_," Dellya blurted out, "Now you sound just like my father."

"That is the last thing I want to happen here. To be claimed by some noble or local logging brute and to be made wife and keeper to his rug rats while wasting my next few decades watching moss grow in these endless rows of stupid trees!"

Dellya looked thoroughly disgusted by the thought of this. She knew the dwarf was teasing her, but still, the thought of that possible future seemed to be a sore subject with her and she had obviously given the possibility great consideration already.

"Well, I often be sayin' o' me own past that I should be listenin' to me own _Da_, a hundred times over, 'fore I be settin' out to the open roads as I did. Me own tale might have been a bit softer an' kinder rather that what it be today," the dwarf said.

"But see, you didn't listen, did you," Dellya said twisting the dwarf's own words of wisdom against him.

"Aye, but I jus' be an _idjit_ an' a hard headed stone cracker dwarven _idjit_ at that," Ozwulf said with a teasing growl.

"Not so . . . you, Ser dwarf, are an adventurer, a noble breed to be certain! One with more courage in one of your dirty boots than the whole of this village I would guess."

"And that, is far superior to an _idjit_, whatever that is," Dellya laughed as she said it, lightening her mood.

"I should very much like to hear that tale by the way. The one where your father told you one thing and you ignored him and went off to be an adventurer."

Ozwulf grinned but did not look up to meet Dellya's look.

"Another time me be thinkin'," Ozwulf said, standing up to stretch his short stout legs.

The black smith appeared from his forge and walked up to the pair of waiting customers. The smithy held a couple of cooled pieces of worked metal in his heavily gloved leather clad hands. He extended them to Ozwulf, who eyed them with scrutiny, evaluating the shape and the craftsmanship.

"They are cool enough now, what do ye think Ser dwarf, do they meet ye needs" the black smith asked?

"Aye! Well done there smithy," the dwarf said as he eyed the metal climber's spikes and then scooped the pieces into his pack. Ozwulf spilled out a handful of copper coins he had promised the smithy and added a couple of more in tip to the craftsman for his work.

"You've ruined those perfectly good wood climber's holds by the way," Dellya noted.

"Putting loops into the ends will not add anything of value to them, none that I can see anyways. A waste of good copper coins and a few climbing hold's if you ask me."

"Yeah, we be seein' 'bout that lass. Ye have never even seen a mountain have ye, or a mine fer that matter," the dwarf asked with another broad grin?

"Never mind the question, they be perfect an' will do the job as needed when called upon," the dwarf said with confidence.

"Now, where can a dwarf be findin' some decent ale to be quenchin' a thirst in this muddy little pile o' twigs an' sticks ye be callin' a village?"

"Come on then," Dellya said as she started off back towards the center of the village, waving the dwarf behind her.

"_The Shady Rest_, the best and only Inn and Tavern in Loggerswald," the girl said with a hint of excitement as she skipped ahead.

"I know the place like the back of my hand Oz. And I know of someone there that can get you that tasty ale you seek, pure and flavorful I promise! No watery drizzle like you find to the South lands."

"Huzzah! Then lead on lass," shouted Ozwulf as he followed his new young friend. Ozwulf had already spotted the place long ago upon entering Loggerswald, but allowed young Dellya to have her fun showing him around her village for the time.

"An' perhaps there be still time to slow the girl's thinkin' from a life as an adventurer," Ozwulf thought to himself as he approached the large two story wooden building ahead.

Clearly Dellya was entranced at the notion of such a life and Ozwulf could see that plainly upon her face. Life in the rough took a lot more than innocent youth and an adventurous spirit. Ozwulf had learned that lesson early on in his career and only wanted to prevent those harsh lessons from falling onto someone as young and full of life as Dellya.

"I be wonderin' if I be ever that young or that naïve? I know I was to be twice as stupid as the lass when I was her age, that much I be rememberin' as true . . . ," the dwarf thought to himself. Ozwulf chuckled to himself at the thought.

"Perhaps I should be introducin' her to me new barbarian ally. That might be shadin' a different light fer the lass then, different than one she be dreamin' up. That lad's seen plenty o' rough times o' late, enough fer all of us me be thinkin'."

Dellya lead Ozwulf up to the door of the large inn, where a sign had been marked and painted above its threshold. The sign read, _The Shady Rest_. It had a carving of a large full bodied shade tree nestled above a large silhouetted bunk house with a golden cresting moon rising above it.

A crowd has already begun to form inside from the sounds of it as a chorus of conversation drifted out from the open doorway leading within. A warm glow of firelight could be seen within.

Ozwulf glanced about at the fading orange haze of the sun's glow from the west and figured it to be about half an hour or so before sunset. The dwarf knew the others would be here soon to meet him.

"Perhaps there be opportunity to be speakin' to this _Brinn_ fellow an' gettin' some details 'bout the bandit troubles an' such," the dwarf thought to himself as he gazed inside the common room from the open doorway.

The place was large for an Inn, with a huge common room that could easily accommodate a hundred patrons at its dozens of tables. A roaring fire blazed not only at the center of the common room but also towards the far end of the great hall, providing warmth and great amounts of light all about the place. A long _L_ shaped wooden bar ran along one of the long rectangular walls on the west side of the structure where dozens more patrons could sit comfortably and drink if they desired. The common room was double storied with a high open ceiling above that vaulted up and out as a second story balcony was railed off from stairs on the east side leading up the upper ring.

Ozwulf was entranced as he stared about and felt himself wander in, almost compelled, by the large open scene. He took in the smell of old rich ales and layers upon layers of scented pipe smoke. A dozen conversations blurred around him, forming a buzz amidst the inn, like a beehive.

Somewhere from beyond the bar, through an open door leading off to what must have been the kitchen, the strong scent of a hearty venison stew wafted towards the dwarf. This blended with a ripe apple tart scent of baked pies coming from somewhere in the same area.

Although the Inn seemed only about half full here in the common room at present, there were already close to fifty or more patrons in the large area, mingling, eating, drinking, and carousing. Ozwulf stopped near the center of the large open room and beamed a smile beneath his thick dwarven beard.

"This be me kind o' place fer sure lass," Ozwulf said to Dellya, who was still striding ahead of the dwarf, "I be likin' this Loggerswald more an' more me thinks."

Ozwulf moved in a bit deeper and then made his way to the long wooden framed bar off to his left. The dwarf chose a seat towards the end of the bar, loosening his pack and placing his crossbow next to him, propped against the bar structure near his feet. The flavors of rich ale crossed his nose and made his mouth water with anticipation.

To the dwarf's surprise, Dellya, who had been leading the way, walked boldly past him at the bar, until she was behind the bar itself. Dellya walked towards the barrels of ale mounted on the back bar wall as if she owned the place.

"_Stone's throw_," the dwarf whispered, "what ye think ye be doin' ye crazy lass,"?

Ozwulf went quiet for the moment, not wanting to draw unwanted attention to Dellya or to himself.

Before Ozwulf could say or think anything more, Dellya knelt down to a wooden cask beneath the large barrels above, grabbed a heavy wooden mug, and began filling it from the cask below with golden thick ale. Dellya did so as if she had practiced this a thousand times before. When she finished, Dellya stood and walked the mug over to the wide eyed dwarf who was still at a loss for words at the end of the bar and was looking about nervously in all directions. The heavy mug was filled with rich golden brew and a head of thick white foam rose up and spilled slightly over the lip of the wooden mug.

"Tis' Brinn's own recipe, that one is, a summer wheat brew and not watered a drop! I think you will find it satisfying and strong enough in flavor as well as boldness master dwarf." Dellya said, waiting for the dwarf to try a sip of the ale.

Ozwulf glanced anxiously about, tying to see if the young woman had been discovered around the room for her bold trespass.

"Get ye back away from there, lass! The bar keep will be tannin' ye hide fer such acts!" Ozwulf stammered out in a rushed whisper, glancing about nervously once again.

"Breath easy Oz," Dellya replied, "I am well known here in this place and serve as bar maiden at times. Another hour and this might have been me serving you the same mug of brew and then asking you for hard coin for it."

"It is not a proud job, but it is a post I hold none the less. And I have the days to myself, only being needed in the evenings to help with the crowds at supper," she said.

"Although the look upon your bearded face makes us even now, for your wicked actions that saw knocked into the mud," she giggled out loud as she said it.

Ozwulf thought for a second that perhaps the youth was mocking him with this ruse, but she seemed well skilled about the bar and no one seemed to be shooing her away at present. The dwarf stopped looking about and turned back towards Dellya.

"Ye should 'ave made plain these facts 'fore we came to this point lass," the dwarf blurted back as he took a long drink from the full mug of ale. Ozwulf could not wait another minute to sample the frothy mug in his hands.

The reward was a taste of golden, crisp, delicious goodness, both thick and full of flavor. Ozwulf beamed a wide smile, white foam still wet upon his mud colored beard.

"You like the brew I see," Dellya teased. "I shall start you a tab, the first one is on the house, compliments of your comely bar maid."

"Now, I must be off and find my apron string bonds before this place begins to fill, but I will back soon enough. Then perhaps we will continue our talk about the open roads and life as a sell sword. The adventuring life calls to me like music from _the Maker's_ golden kingdom itself and I would hear more tales of it! I want to meet your friends as well, Sinful and Kantus . . . or whatever you said their names were," she said as she bounced away with a renewed energy.

Ozwulf gulped in another swig as ale. He nodded only half listening to the girl as she bounded off, as he clearly found himself distracted by the great flavor of this immaculate brew. It was the first truly great ale he had sampled since leaving Orzamarr, many years ago.

Ozwulf glanced up from his half empty mug and saw Sindel walk into the Inn's common room. The thin Dhalish elf was adorned in his traveling padded tunic and worn leather pants. Sindel glanced about the place for a moment or two before eyeing Ozwulf. The dwarf was seated at the long wooden bar not far from the elf.

Sindel smiled as he entered and made his way closer to his companion. Sindel looked about and took notice of the thickening crowds about the Shady Rest for a moment before turning his attention to the dwarf and taking a seat next to him at the bar.

"I don' even half to be askin' do I," Ozwulf said to Sindel.

"If ye be havin' any sort o' luck I be meanin'," the dwarf said quietly as he leaned in a bit to keep the exchange between the two friends a bit more private.

"No, you need not ask and of course we are in luck," Sindel replied.

"The opportunities here seem almost limitless in this little camp of tree murderers," Sindel said sarcastically, keeping his voice low and his eyes darting about. The elf was taking in all the details around the bar and its patrons as he spoke.

Ozwulf just shook his head and looked away in disgust at the statement. Sindel smiled, enjoying the dwarf's frustration for the moment.

"I jest my friend," Sindel said in a chuckle, "this place will serve our needs well."

Ozwulf glanced back up at Sindel, relieved the elf was mocking him.

"I 'ave a few leads meself fer us to be ponderin' on," the dwarf replied. "Have ye be seein' the big lad yet 'midst ye wanderin'?"

"Nay, he is probably still exploring I would guess, but I am sure he will show soon, as we agreed upon. With his build and youth, I imagine he must get hungry about every hour or so. Once he smells the cooked meats, he will magically appear I am sure."

"You may share your leads with me soon enough, but let me go first," Sindel said softly but with a hint of excitement.

"This place has all sorts of . . . intrigue, all of which could prove quite profitable for us. There have been bandit troubles all winter long and have continued with the spring's rise it would seem."

"Not the normal rogue agents, making profit on passing caravans and the like, but _killers_ it would appear . . . _murderous savage brute dogs, _as one person described to me earlier."

"These slayers of men, women, and children alike, seem to have dug into the local woods like ticks upon a dog. And from what I am told, they have some large numbers to their band," Sindel said, keeping his tone low.

"_Really_," Ozwulf asked?

"How many we be talkin' 'bout?"

"On several occasions, they have had raiding parties of a dozen or more. Sometimes on horseback, sometimes on foot, but all seem experienced with a bow as a common theme," Sindel said.

"Many folk have taken to calling them, the Black Masks or the Black Hoods, or something of the sort."

"On another related note, _Brinn_ is the name I keep hearing the locals speak of when it comes to bounties and their payouts. It would seem he is the proprietor of this very establishment. There was also some talk about the Head Man, a fellow named Dotson, who was supplying coin on this arrangement of bounties and the like."

"Aye, I be hearin' similar names an' was set to speak to the man himself if I be seein' him as I arrived. But somethin' be distractin' me, that much is fer sure," Ozwulf chuckled as he sipped another swig of his ale.

"That's not all. With all of this trouble with murdering bandits, where is the Bann of Loggerswald and his many valiant knights and men at arms you ask" Sindel teased and paused a bit before continuing as Ozwulf listened on intensely?

"Aye, where be the Bann an' what be his doin's in this mess then," Ozwulf asked?

"_No Bann_," Sindel said.

"_No_ _Bann_" Ozwulf asked?

"_No Bann_," Sindel repeated again, this time his eyes widening with intrigue.

"The trouble escalated to a boil as winter broke or so it would seem. A large raiding party of these murderous black masked archers rode boldly into Loggerswald itself one day and murdered a dozen or more of the locals in broad daylight."

"This was after the trouble had been brewing for much of the winter with loggers going missing time and time again, brigands being spotted within the deep woods by multiple logging bands, and it all being reported to the local man in charge."

"The Bann had done nothing in the previous months about these things as they amassed in number and with repeated frequency and boldness. The open murder of citizens that day, in the heart of the village itself, was the final straw it would seem. Locals called for a vote of no confidence and denounced this Bann's authority by the end of that bloody day, or so I am told."

"An' this Bann, he be the one we heard bout', the one called _Valen_," Ozwulf asked?

"Indeed, I believe so," Sindel answered. "This Bann Valen had claimed a lack of coin and resources during the long harsh winter. The locals were not buying it. They had felt the steep taxation of the long year and had seen blood run in the woods from this Valen's lack of support and action."

"Most interstin'," Ozwulf said, peeking about to see if anyone was listening to their whispered exchange.

"They have been without a recognized Bann ever since it would seem, taking matters into their own hands with adventurers, sell swords, and bounty hunters as an answer to their needs for justice and vengeance," Sindel said, looking about now for someone to take his order as his excitement had left him parched.

"I be known at times to be an agent o' justice in certain places, fer the right amount o' hard coin," Ozwulf whispered with a broad grin.

"An' what be settin' these archer brigands to task where they need to be addin' mass murder to their list of deeds and such," Ozwulf asked?

"Don' the idjits know that they be killin' the very one's they seek to be robbin'," Ozwulf said. "That be far from profitable in me eyes."

"A fair point," Sindel replied.

"I had not considered that point," Sindel said. "As to what set off the attack, none are clearly sure, although there are many theories and guesses. Each one different depending on the man you ask of course. Most of the villagers are still not sure who or if there is a clear leader amongst this band of murderers."

"An' the Arl o' this region, what be his thinkin' o' such acts in these woods an' what of his actions to the good peoples here in their plight," Ozwulf asked quietly? "Surely all the Bannorn will be feelin' the squeeze of a lack o' timber this spring an' summer if Loggerswald not be producin' to order, right?"

"One would think, but the Arl's intent is unknown, as such responses have not been made public or have not been made at all to this point," Sindel answered. "Could be that communications between the Arl and the area are severed with the public denouncement of Bann Valen. Perhaps the Arl and he were old allies, who could say."

"Bah, _guesses and crows_," Ozwulf grumbled.

Sindel snickered at the dwarf. Ozwulf often used that saying when Sindel began filling in details with his own guesswork. It was from an old saying the dwarf had picked up long ago on his travels.

_Guesses and crows, are yeses and no's, when finding the truth ye seek. Trust not what ye think, and instead what ye know, lest ye outcome truly be bleak! _

Sindel shook his head at the stoic dwarf.

"May I continue," Sindel asked?

"O' course," the dwarf said.

"The head man of the camp, _Dotson_, has some other paying jobs for the likes of us on his job board, if we do not take to the ways of bandit hunting and frontier justice in the name of the village."

"It seems he has posted a very fat gold sovereign bounty for the capture of a wild man the locals call, the _Raging Mad Antler Bones_. This wild man seems to be hiding somewhere out in the Brecillian, sighted south of here as recent as a week past."

"An' what's this wild one done to be angerin' the head man an' the whole camp to the price of a gold sovereign, 'sides to be havin' such a stupid name," Ozwulf asked Sindel?

"He is supposed to be a mad man of sorts, a practitioner of dark and vile blood magic's, as the tales would have you believe," Sindel said. "The man had a run in with this Dotson's nephew a while back while the youth was leading a deep logging band. There were multiple gruesome deaths, including the nephew himself, from what I have learned."

Ozwulf's face drained of blood at the mention of blood magics and his eyes narrowed anxiously as he considered what Sindel had just revealed.

"Hmm, what else ye 'ave," the dwarf asked Sindel after the pause, wanting to move past the story of the wild man and his blood magic rumors.

"Lastly, there is an additional paying task of wolf hide collecting, to help the loggers thin out growing spring wolf packs that have been nagging logger's camps deeper in the woods at the forward harvesting sites."

"I guess the packs have grown so bold and hungry of late that they have not just sampled horse meat in their nightly pack hunts," Sindel offered.

The elf looked pleased as he beamed a grin at the dwarf who was still sitting next to him, taking it all in and considering their possibilities and future.

"_Well_, that be it," Ozwulf asked abruptly, his face blank of emotion, watching Sindel's self adoring smile turn into a dampened scowl?

"No," Sindel replied sharply, "there is also a _Chantry_ presence here. I should have known and we should have been more thorough in our scouting before wandering about, each in our separate ways."

Ozwulf left the playful sarcasm alone and his eyebrows rose across a somber brow.

"_Maker's twisted sack_," the dwarf hissed under his breath!

"That be more than a spot o' trouble, 'specially with the new blood we 'ave amongst us. Ye 'ave any details on the situation or 'ave ye scouted it out yet ye self," the dwarf asked cautiously?

"Indeed, a single _Sister_ tends to this chapter and all of Loggerswald from what I could gather," Sindel replied, "and she is more of a care giver to the poor and weak than a _heresy_ hunting force of empowered tyranny."

"And there are no Templers here as far as I have been told; at least there have not been any near this area in some time. I have not seen this for myself, but I have it on _good authority_," the elf said with sincerity.

The way Sindel phrased that last part had Ozwulf more than a little concerned. Ozwulf eyed Sindel over, narrowing his gaze directly at the elf as thoughts swept through his mind and questions popped into his head like bubbles in a wash basin. Sindel could feel the dwarf's suspicious gaze upon his face like heat from the high noon sun.

"_Good authority_ then," the dwarf asked pointedly?

"Have ye already been samplin' the local brothel tents then," Ozwulf asked pointedly?

"An' this go about, does ye new acquaintance base her facts on needed coins for her purse or be she jus' playin' us fer a laugh like the last time in Dawn Hollow," Ozwulf asked Sindel sternly.

"I should be _shocked_ Ser dwarf," Sindel mocked, his face a bit flush with color at the accusation.

"I guess I would be offended at such a question, if it had not been proven true in times past," Sindel said with a grin.

"In times past mind you," Sindel repeated!

"But to answer your question . . . _No_, I have not seen a brothel tent here and my good authority is just that, _on good authority_."

"Where is the trust my friend," Sindel asked, although Ozwulf seemed to be having none of the humor that accompanied his playful grin.

"I be trustin' in what I see with me own eyes, not what ye think ye see, or what some brothel wench may be sayin' she sees, or anything else o' the like."

"_Guesses and crows_ I be tellin' ye," Ozwulf said!

"Whatever . . . ," Sindel said.

"And you then," Sindel asked Ozwulf, waiting to hear what the dwarf had found out about the logging town so that he could compare it to the information he had gained from Sayeth the witch girl.

"Oh, I be learnin' one great big thing this merry day 'ere in Loggerswald," Ozwulf said to Sindel with some excitement.

"This 'ere brew be the best damn ale a thirsty rock biter be tastin' since maybe Orzamarr . . . no . . . maybe ever! Ye need to be tryin' some o' it, what ye be waitin' on elf," the dwarf asked, pointing to his own empty mug.

"_Really_?" Sindel questioned as he stared down into the empty mug. "That's it, that's what you've learned?"

"_HAR_!" Ozwulf roared in laughter at Sindel.

"O' course not," the dwarf chuckled, "I also be havin' these made at the smithy shop just a bit o' go."

The dwarf pulled out the wood climber's spikes and showed them to Sindel. The elf's face scrunched up in a visible frustration at the lack of seriousness the dwarf was offering at the moment. Sindel wondered just how many of those golden ales Ozwulf had already sampled this afternoon.

"Easy there skinny, easy now," Ozwulf said as he caught his breath between laughs, "breathe elf, breath a bit," the dwarf said patting the elf on the back as he continued chuckling until he was wheezing.

"I be pokin' a little fun with ye, that's all," Ozwulf said as he straightened himself while catching his breath.

Sindel smiled a forced grin at the dwarf.

"I suppose a laughing and joking Ozwulf is a drastic improvement over the dour and shouting dull one," Sindel dead panned to Ozwulf.

"There he is, there's me lad," Ozwulf patted the elf again on the back with a smile.

"I be hearin' much o' the same or at least some o' the same as ye had me friend. Not be worth repeatin' as ye details out measure me own on the topic," the dwarf admitted to Sindel, his face still flushed with color from laughter.

"I did see to the tradin' o' the pelts as promised an' got us some good hard coin on them, to me surprise, as well as some trade fer us to use later," Ozwulf said.

"The trader, he be not well stocked in our exact needs, but lantern oil an' dried rations should be easily found there in bulk."

"The news o' the Chantry sister be a dangerous revelation, an' news to me ears fer sure. Even if this Sister be uninterested in _heresy_ huntin' fer the time being, it still could be bringin' trouble to us in our time 'ere. We should see to practicin' caution fer sure while we stay 'ere," Ozwulf finished.

Sindel was pleased with the dwarf's complimentary offering about his information. Gathering useful lore in a village was usually Ozwulf's specialty and the dwarf was very good at his job. Sindel was excellent at gathering details, but useful information that always pertained to the task at hand, not so much.

"What of this place, _The Shady Rest_, have you made company with just the golden ales or have you laid eyes yet on this _Brinn _fellow," Sindel asked?

"I should like to confirm the bounty on these bandits from the man himself and inquire into its availability. Can any take up arms or must we register with the man to claim bounties?"

"Nay, not yet," Ozwulf replied, "distracted, as I be mentionin' before."

"No matter," Sindel said.

"I am sure he will make his presence known before long. This place grows thicker with patrons than a bear's winter fur."

"Too true," Ozwulf agreed, noting the crowded common room. Almost every table the dwarf could see had customers at them now.

"Alright then," Sindel said with a grin, "let's taste some ale."

Sindel signaled one of the passing hostesses, ordering a mug of ale, and joined the dwarf's warm mood as the pair certainly seemed to have something to celebrate here. The town was bustling, opportunity stood at every turn here, and the weather was warm and inviting here in Loggerswald this evening. The pair of companions shared several mugs of ale while they watched the inn's common room grow more and more tightly packed as the fading light of the sun turned to dim ebbing darkness outside.

Another hour past sunset had the Shady Rest's common tap room rowdy and jarring with loggers, travelers, merchants, traders, and other types from all over the surrounding area. There seemed to be as many foreigners to Loggerswald as there were local patrons this evening. One face that had not joined the crowded house was that of a large Avarri barbarian stranger . . . Acanthus.

Both companions grew more and more concerned as the minutes passed until not even the golden stout taste of the Shady Rest's summer ale seemed desirable to the worried Sindel and Ozwulf. As the second hour past sunset began to pass, both companions considered going out searching for the missing barbarian, but both continued to wait patiently, giving the warrior a bit more time to show. Neither would openly discuss the matter with the other, not wanting to seem like a worrying old maid wandering about for a knee high brat.

Ozwulf had been keeping an eye out for the ever mercurial Dellya as well as he sat sipping on his ale. The dwarf had recanted his afternoon meeting with the young woman and looked forward to introducing her to Sindel. Finally, she made an appearance from the kitchen, ale stained apron donned like armor, and scurried about here and there with fresh breads, bowls of hearty stews, and baked pastries from the kitchen. Once she had a chance to catch her breath, serving dozens of tables in a blur, Ozwulf waived her over to introduce her to his elven friend.

"Dellya, lass, I be wishin' to introduce ye to me friend, Sindel." Ozwulf said to Dellya as he motioned to towards his friend.

"Sindel be me travelin' companion of old an' one o' the lads I be tellin' ye 'bout earlier, although don't be tellin' him I said he be me friend," the dwarf teased. Dellya smiled as she shook Sindel's hand.

"And this, Sindel, be Dellya, part time bar maiden, part time roguish sneak an' hunter, an' part time treasure seekin' scout o' these forest parts. Though she be a terrible dwarf hunter."

"A _Dhalish_, well met good Sindel," Dellya said beaming with renewed excitement, "and I am guessing, another accomplished adventurer as well."

"Well, I am Dhalish and I am an adventurer, but I am not sure about these accomplishments you boast of," Sindel teased a bit at himself.

"I have muddied and worn out my share of leather boots in these past months, if you are proud of those types of accomplishments, then boast away."

"Ye see lass, not all be glitterin' gold an' silken beds," the dwarf stammered out to Dellya.

"Bah, you sound like your friend Ozwulf, master elf," Dellya said. "I am sure you both sell yourselves short to heroic tales and exciting adventures."

"I spent part of the afternoon trying to explain it all to your thick headed dwarven associate here," Dellya said with a wink towards Ozwulf.

"When you have sword wielding, the open trails, dangerous quests, and great golden treasures in one hand, and in the other, you have wooden trays of empty ale mugs and the constant sounds of falling trees and puking patrons, you can see where the more attractive lifestyle lies, can't you?"

"There be golden treasures to be had," Ozwulf exclaimed in an overdramatic questioning tone, eyes wide and mouth agape as he stared towards Dellya in disbelief?

"I be tradin' all o' em I be findin' fer more o' this fine brew!"

Dellya thumbed her nose at the mocking Ozwulf playfully, shooting him a disapproving gaze, not to let the dwarf off so easy with his performance.

"You make a fair point Dellya," Sindel offered.

"Are you sure you spoke to this dwarf, Ozwulf," Sindel said pointing towards his short friend, who was laughing heartily at his side?

"I am a little thunderstruck that one as wise and charming as you appear got more than a few grunts from Ozwulf or that you would even claim him as acquaintance after an afternoon of speaking to him."

"_Bah_!" Ozwulf interjected, taking the ribbing in good jest with a snort.

"T'was not his wisdom or his company that had me so charmed Ser elf," Dellya said, giggling to herself, "but his dead eye with that crossbow of his! That and his magic ears that heard me sneaking about from thirty paces above him, those are the qualities that I find worthy of compliment."

"Ah ha, then you and I are in unison there. Out with his chattering loudness and in with the compliment to his prowess with a crossbow. I could not agree more," Sindel said as he chuckled.

"I like this one Ozwulf; perhaps I should try shooting at locals with your crossbow whilst wandering into new villages."

With a wink, Dellya returned to the back room to replenish her empty tray with hot food from the inn's kitchen, continuing her evening tasks. This left the pair of companions to return to their worrying about their missing barbarian friend.

Another short time passed and finally a tall shadow of a man entered through the doorway of the Shady Rest. It was the barbarian Acanthus and both companions immediately sighed in relief as they saw the big warrior cross through the front door into the Inn's common room. Ozwulf quickly motioned for the barbarian to join them over at the bar.

"Where ye been lad, tis well later than sundown at present?" Ozwulf said aloud with a hearty back slap to the big Avarri as he joined them at the bar.

"I have been . . . uhm . . . wandering a bit. I am sorry for my delay. I was not aware the day passed to night so quickly until I made my way here," Acanthus responded, somewhat surprised at the concerned tone from the dwarf.

"Not aware," Ozwulf asked?

Sindel also caught this surprising note from Acanthus and shared a concerned look.

"Because ye couldn't see the sky above ye," the dwarf quizzed in a somewhat annoyed bark, "that don' be makin' no sense lad!"

"He probably found that brothel tent you mentioned earlier," Sindel said with a grin.

Ozwulf chuckled at Sindel, but Acanthus found no humor in the statement and looked sternly down at his companions.

"Ease your concern my friends, I have been in no danger and have brought none with me. I am unsure about your worry," the barbarian said, before ordering a mug of ale for himself.

"I have seen much of Loggerswald this day. Some parts of this place, I would never have thought to seek out in a thousand lifetimes. I find myself doubly blessed this evening and perhaps guided by the spirit of the _Mountain Father_ himself," Acanthus said, beaming with relief in his eyes and a bit of growing excitement as he said it.

"_Doubly_ blessed . . . guided by the spirits eh . . . ye sure ye were not hit in the head lad," Ozwulf said, eyeing the warrior with scrutiny.

"Aye, blessed, and I have done as you guided my friend."

"I have found us employment . . . _potentially_," Acanthus said; his eyes wide with the news.

"Employment," Sindel asked?

"Potential employment," Ozwulf interrupted?

"Aye and I have found some relief from my troubled thoughts of late, a secondary blessing to that of the potential coin to fill our pouches and adventure to fill our spirits!"

"_Really_," Sindel said, "do tell."

"This came to me in the form of spiritual council, from a wise and gentle priestess of a dead wife of someone's god. This holy woman seemed to see inside my heart and share in my pain as if she had been there all along . . . watching, knowing, understanding what befell me in my recent plights. Surely this was a gift from the _Mountain Father_ himself, no?"

Sindel and Ozwulf looked at each other in shared confusion. And then to Acanthus and back to each other once again.

Neither knew where to start with their questions . . . the potential job, the advice given to Acanthus or the source? The surprise of it all was all too unexpected for the dwarf and the elf to take in right now. Sindel himself had tried for the better part of the last day and a half to pry any information from Acanthus about his recent troubled past, but without a shred of success. Sindel looked frustrated as he considered the revelation from Acanthus.

Sindel then glanced down, almost instinctively, and looked to Acanthus' hands.

The tightly bound leather cord was _missing_ from his left hand!

Acanthus still looked quizzically down at his two companions. The barbarians look was one of excitement but was starting to mix in apprehension and confusion as the long pause continued at the bar.

Sindel nodded subtly towards the hand of the barbarian as he caught Ozwulf's gaze. The dwarf glanced down while taking a sip of his ale and noticed the missing detail now as well.

"By me father's beard, what be happenin' here," Ozwulf thought frantically to himself as he returned Sindel's glance with a confused look of his own? The dwarf then looked back to Acanthus, questions painting his stare.


	6. Chapter 6 - Of Heroes and Tales

**Chapter 6 – Of Heroes and Tales**

As the evening continued about the crowded raucous halls of the Shady Rest Inn, more and more patrons filtered in until the place felt cramped and congested with activity. A group of musicians had begun to play off and on and dancing had started in spurts around the taproom. Food was being served on endless wooden trays flowing from the kitchen, mugs of ale came in legion from casks and barrels from behind the bar, and revelry continued in all parts of the buzzing Inn.

Just before Acanthus had begun to retell his tale that had delayed him from arriving on to the Inn on time, Sindel had noticed a large procession gathering in one of the corner booths of the fest hall. At the elf's first notice, there had been a small group of individuals filling up the space in that far booth on the other side of the fest hall.

"A traveling party or perhaps a wealthy noble and his entourage,' Sindel guessed to himself, although he did not see the details of the group in the far corner when they had first arrived.

After a while, several tables of other travelers had pulled their tables around the booth and joined into an even bigger group as tales were being shared and a multitude of ales delivered to the large congregation. A short bit later, several buxom wenches had buzzed about and made their home perched amongst the tables and booth as well, adding to the already growing procession.

Now, as Acanthus had appeared, ready to share his tale with his friends, Sindel noticed another dozen or so onlookers stood openly around the merriment in the far corner as gawkers, hangers on, and bystanders. The group in the far end of the common room now encompassed almost a third of the tap room's space and it made for a very curious sight to the very curious elf. Sindel continued to watch the large glob of people grow like a living mass with each hour that passed as he tried to listen to Acanthus.

"Royalty, an Arl perhaps," Sindel asked himself as he continued to observe to growing mob?

Sindel continued to watch from afar as something curious and perhaps important stirred in the far corners of the Inn's common room. Sindel finally broke his stare at the growing procession and turned back his full attention to Acanthus.

"This 'ere, wise council ye be getting', or priestess as ye be callin' her," Ozwulf asked Acanthus in low voice, "what ye be meanin' by that lad?"

"Tis not like ye have be wantin' to share in such details o' late with us or anyone else fer that matter, so it be surprisin' to me more than a bit to be hearin' such tales from ye."

"I understand, the conversation you speak of . . . is a . . . difficult one for me," Acanthus responded quietly, his eyes drifting away from Ozwulf's stare.

Acanthus could see that the dwarf seemed very serious and was listening intently to each word the barbarian revealed. Acanthus also could see that Sindel, although looking about the crowded tavern halls, was also listening intently to the warrior's tale.

"There was a woman, a shamaness or . . . priestess, a Ferelden _Sister_ she called herself," Acanthus said.

"The Sister, she has a place here in this village, in the woods to the east, like a holy shrine or temple home. She offered me council there on many things, such as work for our band . . . and she . . . she was . . . . she knew," Acanthus stuttered awkwardly, stumbling around the words as he tried to push them out from his mouth, but in the end his words just broke and went silent.

Acanthus wanted to tell his friends about what he had discussed with the Sister, but the words fled from him as he wrestled with them in his mind.

Ragnum's face once again filled the barbarian's thoughts.

"She . . . the things . . . she knew . . . _Ragnum_ . . . the pool, the great serpent, the fire in the fields, the dead charred flesh . . ," Acanthus stammered the words together in ragged torn chunks.

"Ok then," Ozwulf offered, showing true concern for the big warrior, "be easy now lad. No need t' be payin' the entire tab all at once. Take ye time if ye be needin' ta."

"A _Sister_ though, you say," Sindel interjected nervously in a low calm question.

"Yes, a _Sister_ . . . her own calling," Acanthus answered, recovering a bit as the conversation steered further away from Ragnum and his painful past.

"An elder I would call her if we were in my Hold. She was not grey in age, but she was wise and spoke to her _Maker_ spirit for her truths and wisdom. She told me of her holy lady, a dead bride of her spirit god. But I struggle to remember the dead wife spirit's name."

"Describe her if you do not mind, the Sister, not the dead wife spirit I mean. Tell me of this place that you found her at, tell me what you spoke to her of, and then tell me of what she said to you," Sindel asked in rapid quick bursting succession.

"What council did she offer you and at what cost? Did she ask about us, Ozwulf and I, or did you just mention that you were here with allies," Sindel snapped out, beginning to bombard Acanthus with question after question now, without any opportunity for the Avarri to answer.

"_Be easy there_ elf," Ozwulf cautioned.

Ozwulf put his hand on Sindel's arm, tugging gently trying to ease the elf's growing anxiety.

Sindel took a short and labored gulp of a breath and quieted his verbal bombardment into Acanthus for the moment.

"Now then, lad, ye be surprisin' the elf and I both, more than a bit with ye quick findin's an' ye new friend _the Sister_, an' ye relieved spirit amidst this forest village. An' all in so short o' time ye see?"

"All be fine 'nough though, jus' go back a smidgeon an' be tellin' us more o' this Sister ye met an' the events surroundin' it all," the dwarf said calmly to Acanthus.

Ozwulf had worked as quickly as he could to diffuse the mounting tension between the companions but some of the anxiety from Sindel had already been absorbed by the already emotionally charged Acanthus. The barbarian looked apprehensive about continuing his tale and even looked slightly angered with the elf in front of him for his blast of questions. Acanthus had begun his tale with excitement and a hope that his companions would receive what he had to share as welcomed news. But now the barbarian wondered if he had somehow wronged his friends with his news and recent deeds.

"I am _no_ child, Sindel," the barbarian blasted out at the elf.

"_Oy_, here we be goin' then," Ozwulf said with a grimace, realizing the temper of the young warrior had just boiled over from warm to hot.

"You question me like a father would a wayward son who had stolen his favorite hunting spear from his mantle!"

"I have played the role of fool many a time on my short road as adventurer, but I did not bring us trouble this day or put us in danger by simply speaking to a kind woman in her holy lodge," Acanthus said with a stern defiant glare down at Sindel.

"The Sister I spoke with was gentle, a healer in this place unless I miss my mark, and a holy woman to this forest village."

"She is a follower of this one the Ferelden's call, the _Maker _spirit, as she said herself. I believe the locals would name her a _Chantry_ woman, if I heard her correctly. If we were in my village, she would be a _Spirit Talker_ or a _Shaman_," the barbarian finished, setting his jaw in a defensive and almost hostile look.

The blood from Sindel's face drained a bit and he leaned back heavily against the bar.

Finally, the answer had played out to its natural fearful and only conclusion, which of course ended with the mention of the Chantry. Questions had now been answered and more questions filled the elf's head as he slumped back heavily into the bar. So many questions in fact that Sindel grew a bit light headed at the thought of them all rushing through his mind.

The entire scene became dizzying and Sindel held himself against the bar for support. He was not sure if it was the news that the Avarri had just delivered or the many ales he had sampled this past hour, or perhaps the mixture of both, but the moment rained down hard like a series of blows upon the elf, each one stealing his breath and weakening his knees.

Ozwulf remained calm as he watched the exchange, knowing the barbarian did not understand the natural anxiety here and that he was not trying to stir up any trouble for Sindel or any of them for that matter.

"'Member elf," Ozwulf hissed, leaning over towards the dizzied pale Sindel.

"Ye be havin' it on _good authority_ that this be no issue to be concernin' us," Ozwulf reminded, trying to lighten the burden on the elf's heavily weighted and drooping shoulders.

"Acanthus, I be pleased ye found us a lead on work, although I must be sayin', I cannot be guessin' as to what business a good _Sister_ o' the Chant be needin' from a band o' travelin' stragglers like we be."

"But, I be lookin' forward to hearin' that bit o' revelation fer sure, in time. I also be pleased to hear the kind lady offered ye solace an' comfort to aid ye mendin' spirit. The Sisters o' the Chant are well known to be havin' a way 'bout them that can be comfortin' to most at times," Ozwulf said, adding in the last part after seeing Sindel's face growing more and more pale by the moment.

"They sometimes seem to be knowin' o' many remedies an' offerin' many kindnesses to those bein' in need," Ozwulf continued, now staring up at the tall warrior.

"What special wisdom did this _Sister_ be offerin' to ye that aided ye in such a soothin' an' comfortin' way, if I may be so bold to be askin' lad," Ozwulf said, keeping a low calming tone to his question.

"It is of no trouble, I do not mind you asking good Ozwulf," Acanthus said. "She offered council on what some call . . . _blood magic_ . . . and of advice with ways concerning . . . _demons_," Acanthus said bluntly in response to Ozwulf.

A low whispered hiss of streaming elven curses and other colorful language drizzled from Sindel's thin elven lips. They eventually drifted off into a growling slur of mumbles behind the elf's clenched teeth.

Sindel cleared his throat a time or two, yet said nothing, as his mouth went cottony dry and he fought back the queasiness that was mounting in his already knotted stomach.

Ozwulf's bushy dwarven eyebrows could not rise any higher upon his broad forehead and his eyes were wide with a blank shocked stare.

A long pause followed the revelation from the barbarian and time seemed to stop within the busy bar area of the tap room for all three of the companions.

Acanthus stared blankly at his two friends, not sure what he should say or do next. Sindel's eyes were rolling back in his head slightly and Ozwulf's face just continued to grow a blushing deeper shade of reddish orange, like a burning setting sun about to dip beneath the horizon on a mid-summers day.

"_Maker's cock, lad_," the dwarf finally cursed out loud.

Several patrons at the bar turned their heads towards the dwarf at the curse although the revelry continued around them without interruption. It was now Acanthus' turn to look stunned and for the third time today, the big Avarri found himself without words and unsure what to say to such a bold curse from the dwarf that had been patiently calm just a few moments before.

"_No more talk o' this_," the dwarf hissed to Sindel and Acanthus in turn.

"There be too much opportunity here fer us all, with too many listenin' ears 'bout that be strangers to us, an' too much we not be knowin' 'bout each other as o' yet," the dwarf rasped out as he gripped Acanthus' left hand. The dwarf turned the barbarian's hand palm up and tossed an accusing look upwards towards the Avarri.

"There be much to be discussin' 'ere. . . but later, not now," Ozwulf said, this time in a lower, more controlled tone, although the dwarf's face was still a blend of reds, oranges, and browns.

"'Nough o' this fer the time bein', order ye a brew an' let us rest on this fer the moment. I be wantin' to make introductions fer Dellya to ye Acanthus, when she be returnin', as was her wish," Ozwulf said aloud. The dwarf seemed calmer now, but his serious tone had his companions focused on his every word.

"What is a _Del Ya_," Acanthus whispered, although he quickly stopped any follow up questions as Ozwulf shot him a stare that demanded silence.

"Fer the eve, we all be set to enjoyin' some more o' this better than fine ale here, an' then we be not stayin' 'ere fer the evenin', no Ser," the dwarf stated.

"We be findin' our ways outside o' Loggerswald when we be done 'ere an' makin' camp outside this place, deeper in the woods me be thinkin'. There, we can be speakin' more on this topic an' others that be needin' to be talked 'bout, then an' only then . . . agreed," the dwarf commanded more than asked?

Acanthus and Sindel nodded in quiet agreement.

The trio of companions stood at the end of the bar as the only group in a thick crowd of patrons, not laughing or roaring in a jovial good time within the Inn's tap room. Everyone else in this place seemed lost in revelry for the evening. Acanthus still did not understand much of what had just happened, but left it alone for now, agreeing to listen to Ozwulf's orders for now.

A loud noise began to form across the cacophony of voices in the common room. A man was standing upon a chair trying to settle down the patrons within the hall by clanking together a large ladle and an empty wooden pitcher. The man appeared to be trying to settle the crowd down in order to make some type of announcement. After a couple of minutes of this, the crowd began to quiet, giving way to his clanging request. The man stopped his banging and cleared his throat to speak.

"Good patrons of the Shady Rest," the middle aged, sandy short haired man shouted, looking around the room as he did so, gathering more eyes to him as he began.

"I am _Brinn_, owner of the good Rest. I am known to some of you and a stranger to others here this night. I am thankful either way for your visit to my Inn and for your business. Your patronage is a bright light in these dark times."

"As many of you know, Loggerswald has seen its fair share of troubles these past months, although the Maker blesses us even now with a short dying winter and early promises of spring this year," Brinn said.

With that, many hoots and hollers made their way from many of the loggers in the crowded common room, clearly pleased by the early warming weather and plentiful trade requests for wood. Brinn let the clamoring continue for a short bit before continuing.

"These troubles we have seen will only continue as we increase our logging orders this spring. We will find ourselves pressed to ply our trades longer and harder in the coming days to meet growing demands across the Bannorn and from her many people!"

"These bandits, the trouble that I speak of, they are like a blight of the past Ages and will not go away without great effort and sacrifice! Nay, instead they grow in number with each passing moon, like a host of maggots on a mass dead rotting meat. As their numbers rise, we have seen their boldness grow as well, have we not," Brinn continued, passion coming to his words and color to his cheeks as he stirred emotions within the large crowd.

The mention of Blights murmured through the crowd like a cold winter wind whipping through an autumn field. And the mention of the bandit troubles only stirred the crowd into a darker and unsettling mood.

"We have all felt the sting from these murderous black hearts, but none so much as me! Many of you know that the bandits came forth from their shadows within the great Brecillian not but a couple of months ago and had the sack to enter our village openly and brandishing arms," Brinn said, a strained look mounting upon his face. His voice cracked a bit as he raised it to continue.

"That day, as I, and others in this very room, took weapon in hand and stood against these dogs, we were left with blood, scars, tears, terror . . . and more than a little loss that day," Brinn said, his eyes misting up as he got out this last part.

"I myself lost deeply that day . . . my loving wife . . . _Isa Rose_, the mother of my daughter and love of my life met her end that day. It also cost me use of my knee and I was left this constant reminder to me of that day," the man said as he pointed to his leather braced left leg and to a scar that ran down his left cheek all the way to his neck line.

"We rid ourselves of that coward _Valen_," the man continued, inspiring a few roaring cheers before he continued, "with his aging promises that never took hold and that left us to fend for ourselves in defense of our homes and our families that day. And to those of you that have taken me up on my bounty for bandit scalps this spring, I say thanks to you all once again!"

"My coffers are filled with coin a plenty to pay such just rewards," Brinn said, "so keep 'em coming!"

Another round of cheers and hollers swept through the crowd until Brinn continued.

"But my announcement is not only of remembrance and thanks here, but of great excitement this eve. I stand here before you tonight to announce two great things for all of the villagers and patrons of Loggerswald," the man said, pausing before continuing to let the words sink into the crowd. The anticipation of what he alluded to began to grow amongst the rowdy onlookers.

"First, I am raising my bounty on those murderous dogs of the _Black Hood_ band! Fifty copper hard coins for each hood and scalp you bring to me that prove to be authentic," Brinn exclaimed, dropping the heavy ladle to the ground while hefting up a large clinking heavy coin purse in the air with his outstretched hand. Copper and silver coins overflowed from the large leather purse and clanked and spilled down upon the table top at Brinn's feet.

A whispered bevy of chatter and discussion ensued amongst the crowded tavern. Eyes hungrily swept upwards towards the hefty pouch of metal currency in Brinn's hand. The man soaked it all in, his face ripe with passion and red hot vengeance.

Sindel and Ozwulf both looked at one another with a surprised look.

"Now _that_ be a bounty," Ozwulf whispered low to Sindel.

"Nay, that is a king's ransom if the bandit's numbers are as large as people gossip," Sindel corrected.

"Our good Brinn must feel the loss of his loved one with a powerful deep pain to offer up such treasures in return for blood vengeance!"

"Aye, an' if this place be not crawlin' already with bounty hunters an' sell swords, t'will be by the morrow's sunset fer that hefty sum o' coin," Ozwulf added.

The crowd once again quieted down after this stir of murmurs and whispered excitement and once it had settled down enough to speak, Brinn continued.

"The last bit of interruption I offer up this evening is a tip of the hat to true heroes of great renown we find ourselves amidst this fine evening," the man declared loudly with a grin, playing up the already restless crowd. The man pointed to the back booth near him where Sindel had seen the growing procession of bystanders. Sindel looked on with intrigue, his curiosity piqued to its fullest extent.

"Here, in my very own establishment, you find yourself drinking with _legends_ this evening," the man boasted as he pointed to the far booth. "It is with great honor that I offer up a round of applause to the great sons and daughters of High Ever, the heroes of the Battle of Fire Drake Peak, the legendary adventuring party . . . _Valor's Edge_!"

With that announcement a roar went out through the crowd. Cheers, hollers, and mug clanking resounded throughout the fest hall in waves like thunder. Many stood on chairs or tip toed amongst the crowd to sneak a peek at the back table and booth the Inn Keeper pointed towards. Some whispered, others roared in applause and acknowledgment, and all found the news to be thrilling.

Brinn seemed to join in the applause with vigor, almost leading the way with loud calls and pumping fists. This continued until a figure in the far booth, obviously a member of the renowned group, finally acknowledged the cheers. The lone figure stood from the back booth, raised a hand to calm the roar, and addressed the crowd.

The man was large, almost as tall and wide as Acanthus in stature, but his suit of full metal dark toned plate armor made him ten times more impressive in visage. The heavy metal plates were the color of tarnished silver blended with the deepest blues of the eastern ocean. The man held a horned helm that matched his armor in color under one arm and he quieted the crowd with gestures from his other muscled arm. A massive great sword dangled from a fur sheath on his back, its pommel adorned with a sapphire the size of a man's eye upon its silvered hilt. This adventuring knight wore his hair shoulder length in style with its dark, almost black tones laying in stark contrast to his tanned skin and pearly white teeth. His jaw was squared and muscular, set like granite blocks in a mountain side. His charisma beamed as he stood their playing to the frenzied crowd, every bit the image of a great heroic figure from some bard's story book tale.

"_Ser Tarsion_, _the Azure Knight_," the crowd whispered as they murmured in unison until the whispers faded into to a tension laden silence.

"Gentle citizens of Loggerswald . . . my friends," the knight offered with a broad smile, his piercing sea blue eyes stirred the hearts in many of the women within the tavern room as he spoke, "Tis true, _Valor's Edge_, heroes of the northern reaches of Ferelden . . . are here with you this very night. Tis also true that we have taken up contract and bonded word with your good man Brinn as well as with your head man, Dotson. We are to serve as protectors to Loggerswald and rid this place of its troubles very soon."

A roar of applause rippled through the crowd before the knight could finish his speech. Ser Tarsion smiled as the roar echoed about the hall like passing thunder in a bank of storm clouds. The knight seemed well used to such displays and seemed to enjoy the adoration and the accolades more than a little. The crowd once again settled at Tarsion's motioning request after a moment or two and he continued.

"Finally, my friends, it _will _be true that you _will_ no longer have a bandit problem in your woods now that Valor's Edge has staked claim as your protectors," Tarsion said to the crowd with a confident roar!

Ozwulf stared at the performance and his face showed obvious disgust at such theatrics and open bravado. Sindel on the other hand was all smiles as he admired the performance and the reaction of the crowd on hand. The elf began to clap and applaud the knight's speech almost before others began to join in. Acanthus stood in neutral silence between the pair, not sure what this meant to his party or how to exactly to take this knight or his pretty speeches.

Applause and cheers blasted forth from exited patrons until the man returned to his comrades in their booth, waving at the cheers as he sat back down amongst his fellows. The raucous celebration continued onward, carrying upstairs to the private room, outside to the stables, and probably could be heard for miles surrounding the Shady Rest. Brinn seemed at the heart of it all and wore a broad beaming smile openly as he nodded a quick thanks to the now sitting Ser Tarsion.

"A round on the house in celebration of the heroes of _Valor's Edge_," shouted Brinn and the crowd erupted once again in roaring cheers and applause.

"Well, this place be jus' full o' surprises eh," Ozwulf offered dejectedly to his comrades, it was almost lost in the roar of cheers and applause around him.

"Here, 'ere," Ozwulf raised his mug in mockery, "To _Ser Tart Begone_ an' his _bucket o' hammers_, or whatever be his silly little name."

"Bah, me head be poundin' at all this hoopla, 'ow 'bout ye," the grumbling dwarf asked out loud.

"I guess we can cross 'bandit hunting' off the short list of paying opportunities here," Sindel said, turning his back to the entire procession of hoots, hollers, and applause at the mention of free drinks on the house.

Sindel's smile quickly faded as the sight of Acanthus reminded him that there was still unfinished business to be settled at camp tonight before any thoughts of what to do next crossed the heroes minds.

Acanthus continued to be puzzled and stared silently at the revelry around him.

The big warrior had never seen a _true hero_ or a _real_ _knight_ for that matter. The scene had played out before him like a surprise party and although he was still in the moment, his thoughts drifted about him in random sequences.

In his short time as an adventurer, he had never known a tavern's applause or a roaring crowd praising him for deeds he had accomplished in his journeys. He probably would never see such events unfold, he thought to himself. The deeds done in his travels as an adventurer had been darker and would never be celebrated in such a fashion . . . by anyone . . . himself included.

A couple of strange thoughts crept into the barbarian's mind. Perhaps Acanthus was no hero. Perhaps he never would be, no matter where his paths lead him to. But, this man, this _Ser Tarsion the Azure Knight_, he was no hero either, at least not to Acanthus.

"_Real_ heroes have to make _real_ choices," Acanthus thought to himself, as he finished eying the spectacle that was Valor's Edge and this . . . Ser Tarsion.

"_Those choices are steeped in blood and they are paid in death. Those choices do not leave one smiling and taking a bow to a crowd inside a tavern_ . . . . . . "

With that, Acanthus' head and eyes drooped down to the tavern floor and he did not say another word as the masses celebrated around him. Sindel watched the barbarian's face with concern as the shadow had once again returned over it and darkened his new ally's demeanor. Sindel was left to only ponder in silence a way to aid his new companion, if he could.


	7. Chapter 7 - Trust

**Chapter 7 – Trust**

The next hour or so passed slowly for the three companions as each sat at the bar in stoic moody silence. Even Dellya popping by halfway through the hour seemed to only add a blip of energy within the trio as each of the three had a lot on their minds and it showed in their quiet demeanor. Dellya was quickly introduced to Acanthus and it did not seem to carry much weight or interest now to the young woman. An hour or two ago, the notion of meeting yet another adventurer would have sent the girl into a spiraling sky rocket of excitement. But that mood seemed far and away now that the ultimate sighting of true heroes under the very roof of the establishment she worked at, were on the scene. Dellya seemed more than a little distracted with all the excitement and after a round of quick hello's, streamed back into the kitchen to finish up her duties.

The roaring crowd had thinned and quieted some, even more so after the Heroes of High Ever departed the common room for the night. Although they did not go far it seemed, as they made their way upstairs to the Inn's private rooms for the evening.

"Free of charge, of course," Sindel said quietly to himself as he watched them make way upstairs to the cheers and adornment of the commoners in the tap room for the final time of the evening.

A buzz of whispers and rumors seemed to already be moving about the land and very forest itself as the night carried on. As each new group of people left the Shady Rest, the companions could almost hear the tales echoing out in the logging camp and beyond, recanting the speech, the promise, and the presence of legendary heroes within the confines of Loggerswald.

Acanthus finished his last of his mug of ale, sliding it back to the bar keep near him, signaling that he was done for the evening. Ozwulf caught the subtle action and followed by spilling some copper coins from his pouch onto the bar to settle their current tab. As the companions were beginning to grab their packs and leave the Shady Rest for a much needed private discussion elsewhere, a series of raised voices could be heard coming from the back kitchen area beyond the bar.

The raised and serious set of voices continued to grow louder and quickly turned to shouting. One of the voices that was getting louder as well as shriller in tone as it amplified in volume, was that of Dellya. The other loud voice was coming from Brinn, the Inn's owner and the pair seemed to be having an argument that quickly was spilling out of the kitchen and into the Inn's common room.

"_Dellya_, this is _ridiculous_!" Brinn shouted. "I have told you time and time again, I have need of you here, at the Rest. More now than ever before, do you not see what is happening here, tonight even," the Inn's owner shouted at the young woman, following her from behind the bar as she made her way from the kitchen to the open area of the common room and beyond.

"Yes, I have heard this all before, _for months now_, and it is all becoming a blur of noise that splits my mind and causes me to ache from it all," Dellya shouted back towards the following man.

Dellya continued through the masses and table beyond the bar in a blur, throwing a wooden tray behind her in her wake, shattering a stocked bottle of fruit wine behind the bar as it hit. The Inn Keeper, Brinn, was hot on her steps in pursuit, exiting the bar area as well. The common room festivities now fell quiet as many eyes watched the exchange and heard the raised voices, anticipating more of the same to soon come.

Brinn quickened his limping pace and caught up to Dellya before she made it another ten paces across the common room. Brinn's hand grabbed Dellya's shoulder, halting her steps and knocking the slight young woman sideways in the sudden stop. Ozwulf's muscles tensed and he slid forth from the bar stool to a stand, blood rushing to his bearded cheeks in anger. Acanthus and Sindel were just as quick, grabbing the dwarf by the shoulders, easing his defensive gesture for the moment, to see where the argument was going.

"He lays hands on that lass _even a bit_ _more_ an' he'll be undstandin' dwarven sympathy right quick fer his losses," Ozwulf growled low and stern, enough for Sindel and Acanthus both to hear.

"I may help you teach that lesson," Acanthus promised, holding the dwarf easily by the shoulder as he pressed down with his mighty left arm, but watched with growing hostility as the shouting continued.

Dellya spun quickly with a pivot and stared back a fiery gaze into the Inn Keeper face.

For a moment, Sindel was sure that Dellya was about to smash the Inn Keeper's nose in and then jump onto his sprawling flattened form continuing to beat the life out of him. There was a fire there, in her eyes, an exploding rage in the free spirited girl that caught the elf by surprise as it was displayed for all to see. It was not something he had expected from meeting the young girl, although he had only known her for the evening, so perhaps it had been there all along.

"I am _done_ here," Dellya growled, trying to regain her composure and push down the rage for the time being.

"I am _not_ a bar maid, I am _not _your slave, I am _not_ going to bury my grieving and memories with bounty hunting and ale. I am not _you_ Brinn," Dellya shouted back towards the man.

"This is your place, your life, your village, your Inn, and that should all be respected. But, it is not mine and I want my _own_ life," Dellya finished, her voice again splitting and becoming very shrill as it gained volume towards the end of the speech. She now shook openly from her passionate feelings and from the very public confrontation with Brinn.

"True enough Dellie," Brinn said quietly. "But . . . you are still _my daughter_. You are all that I have left in this world."

With that, Brinn released his grasp and looked down to the ground, shoulders slumped, looking like a dying dried out drooping plant that had not seen water in days.

Dellya paused at Brinn's heart felt plea and stared blankly for a moment, catching a breath or two. She then composed herself and tried her best to respond in a calm, purposeful voice.

"I cannot replace her _da_. She is gone, _murdered_, taken from us. I will mourn her as you will for all my remaining days. But, I cannot be her, for you, remaining here, aiding you in this place, staying in Loggerswald for all my days, and denying the calling that is felt within my heart."

"She is dead and we are alive."

"Life must be carried on with and her debt is one I cannot pay for," Dellya offered to Brinn.

"I know, but," Brinn started softly in reply, but was cut short by Dellya once again.

"This argument, these feelings . . . they will only make me grow to hate you _da_. Do ye not understand that? Do not imprison my heart to hold tight to my love. I know ye love me deeply and I you, but this cannot be our life, our remaining days, not like this, not for me."

"We cannot carry on by hiring bounty hunters to seek our vengeance, refusing to acknowledge that she is gone, and denying any way to possibly move forward. This is a prison sentence and a recipe for hatred," Dellya said with a calm and clear purpose.

Dellya finally looked around at the many staring and silent eyes amongst the common room and a flush of reality washed over her like a crashing wave. Embarrassment took her completely. Her last glance was over to the bar where Ozwulf and his companions were.

Ozwulf was now slumping, his muscles unclenched, and he stood in silence listening to the heartfelt argument between father and daughter. Sindel and Acanthus looked down, but Ozwulf continued to stare at Dellya, a compassion and heartfelt look upon his bearded face.

The dwarf offered not a look of surprise or shame or judgment. It was a look of concern and true compassion. Dellya was surprised by the look and felt revealed and vulnerable in that moment. Dellya's cheeks again flushed a scarlet bright red and she felt as hot as a river rock baking in the afternoon sun.

"I cannot do this right now," Dellya whispered towards Brinn, tears now welling up in her bright youthful eyes.

"As I said, I am _done_ here, my decision is my own and it is all I have to offer," Dellya said as she walked out of the front door of the Inn, not looking back towards her father or the others. Brinn was still slumped heavily near a table staring down at the floor and did not offer resistance or the hint of pursuit.

Ozwulf began to leave and follow Dellya, but was stopped again by his companions before he had made it a single foot. The dwarf looked angrily up at the barbarian and the elf, both of whom were holding him by a shoulder to either side.

"Nay, let her be good dwarf," Acanthus cautioned. "I have been where she is at . . . we _all_ have been in that place before. There is not a parent in the great world that would see their child willingly leave their home and their hearts for other horizons. The girl will want some privacy and some time to sort her thoughts this night and she will want that time . . . alone."

"Acanthus is right my friend," Sindel added. "Dellya needs some space to cool down a bit. Your wisdom and kind words will be there for her when she is ready to receive them. Give her the gift of time for now. Let us take this moment to clear our own hearts of our own thoughts and feelings, as we have need of privacy for discussion amongst ourselves."

Ozwulf did not answer Sindel. The dwarf just picked his pack up once again and followed Acanthus and Sindel out of the bar in silence. The dwarf did not look angry or frustrated as he left. Ozwulf just wore the look of concern upon his weary brow as he paced out into the darkness beyond the Inn's doorway light.

After unpacking Ozwulf's lantern and lighting it with oil, the three companions wandered north along the edges of the dark wood for a while, leaving Loggerswald and the Shady Rest in the wake. The trip was quick, perhaps only about twenty minutes or so, and done in near silence. The trio finally found a suitable spot to make a hastened camp and went about their duties of gathering wood, starting a small camp fire, and the like. It was Sindel who broke the silence first once the camp had been made ready for the evening.

"I am not sure why I am telling you this, so soon at least, or how you are to take to it," Sindel said as he continued unpacking his cloak and a fur pelt he used for warmth sometimes at night as he slept. "But, I have a feeling about you. There is something I have felt, a calling if you will that I have felt from the first sight of you."

"I have not known many Avarri and I do not know why you were in that tavern that night or what put you in the state that you were in, but I felt compelled to come speak to you. You were a fellow adventurer, I could tell that much, and you were in pain. There was something akin to that presence that drew me to you. I can even go so far as I had foreseen some of this in a vision, not but a night before we arrived at this chance meeting," the elf said cautiously as he spoke to Acanthus.

Ozwulf now sat down on a large rock, removing his boots as he normally did and warmed his feet near the small fire the group had started. Acanthus, who remained standing, now stopped his busywork and stared at Sindel from across the small fire.

"Acanthus, I am _a mage_, one born of magic," Sindel said bluntly, staring across the fire at the big barbarian.

"I have been so all my life, knowing the awakening feeling of magic within me since I could remember. I did not know my parents as I was orphaned shortly after birth and was brought to an alienage and raised as such there in Denerim," Sindel confessed, letting the words flow from him as if they were almost a relief to let loose.

"When I was young, some older elves in the alienage began to know of my presence, my magical abilities. At the time, I did not know of the Chantry or the Templars or the Circle of Magi. The elves that did know of it and its ways taught me what I needed to know, so that I could make my own decisions about how I wanted to live. With my _curse_ that is, as they liked to call it."

"After several years of learning, watching, listening, and asking questions about the Circle of Mages and the Chantry, I decided I would not reveal myself as a mage. Instead, I took up the mantle of _Apostate _and fled the city, while continuing in secret to practice my ways and hone my skills. This life is what you would call a self taught mage or an untrained mage and one who is not of _the Circle_," Sindel explained, although the elf was caught a little off guard by the setting in Acanthus' jaw and the lack of surprise shown by the Avarri as Sindel clarified the statement.

"You see," Sindel continued, "Apostate mages that practice magic without consent and instruction from the Circle are . . ._ forbidden_ . . . outlawed even . . . "

"Oh, I know of _Apostates_," Acanthus replied, his tone a low growl and not what Sindel had expected. Ozwulf had not the energy left to tense up yet again at the response and simply raised his eyebrows quizzically in the moment.

"Well, ok . . . good then," Sindel stammered out, a bit interrupted in his thoughts at that revelation.

"I do not tell most of this secret and I trust this with very few," Sindel continued.

"If my Apostate status were revealed to the wrong person, in the wrong place, I could see myself beaten, enslaved, perhaps even hung or slain at the hands of the Chantry and their Templar watch dogs, depending on their mercy at the time of such revelations."

"Hence, my apprehension and unease whenever the Chantry is mentioned or its Sisterhood, as it was when you told us your news earlier. My apologies for this secret and for my ways, good Acanthus, the fault is not yours as you did not know," the elf offered to the big warrior.

Acanthus still stood with a posture of tension and a hint of anger contained within him. This news obviously touched a nerve within the barbarian and was not entirely well received. Sindel wondered how this would play out. Would the Avarri attack him openly or leave perhaps in a rushed anger? Or perhaps the warrior would head back to his new council, the good and wise Sister of the Chant, and just turn Sindel in to her and her order? Sindel did not have time to reflect further as Acanthus began to answer.

"There is much I would like to say and some I would not," Acanthus said to Sindel. "Some, I cannot, not yet, as pain still bleeds inside me and has not all worked its way to the surface."

"I respect your secret that you have shared with me. I confess as well, that I felt a connection with you that night, in the tavern when we first me. Something told me, something from within, to not punch you in the face that night and instead, to hear your words. I am not sure what it was, perhaps the _Mountain Father's_ spirit, but I listened to the feeling." Acanthus said, pausing a moment, but not resting the tension in his stance.

"Intriguing," Sindel said quietly as he pondered the response from Acanthus.

"I know some of the ways of magic, from my people's teachings, and I do not fear it, like so many of these Ferelden peoples seem to," Acanthus said to Sindel.

"I have seen it to be useful in my days while growing up. Our Shaman elder, _Kor Cuse the_ _Blackfeather_, used magic's at times to cure the ailing, to spy on rival tribes through the eyes of birds, to add spirit magic's to bless our warriors weapons in times of war, or even to call forth the breath of the _Mountain Father_ to blanket us in great fogs or winter storms for our raids to the low lands."

Ozwulf was surprised at how much the young warriors seemed to know about the arcane arts and at how much the Avarri tribes used these ways in to provide for their needs. Sindel was equally caught off guard with how well versed the young barbarian seemed to acknowledge the ways of magic.

"I wish all were so accepting," Sindel offered the humble response to Acanthus.

"But Apostate mages," Acanthus interrupted. "They were not known to me until I left the Frostbacks, home of my people, and entered the low lands below."

"It was an Apostate mage, a man named _Colbain_, a Chasind wanderer, an adventurer, by his own account. He was the one who introduced me to that term and its consequences that followed. That man, _Colbain the Cold Winters Wind_, caused much of the pain I carry with me now. He cost me much in the way of blood, misery, and loss, and that is all I will speak of him or of that tale . . . this night," Acanthus said as his final words drifted out so softly into the night that the words were not but whispers into the night sky.

"I am sorry my friend," Sindel quickly threw out to Acanthus, offering a blanket apology for something he knew he did not do, but it came out quickly like a reflex. Sindel had known many in his life with similar reaction or stories in his days of travel since the alienage.

"I need no apology," Acanthus said in response to Sindel. "You are not the one who wronged me or caused me such pain. And all three of us know that apologies will not bring back lost lives."

"But, I do need a promise from you Sindel, if we are to continue travelling the same path as friends and allies."

"_A promise_? What is it that you require," Sindel questioned, puzzled at what the request might be.

"I need your _oath_ that you will never use or practice the ways of _Blood Magic_ while I am here, amongst your fellowship. Not while I still call you friend," Acanthus said, his words heavy with purpose and stern in deliverance towards Sindel.

"Of course," Sindel said, sensing now what some of this anxiety flowed from, "an easy promise to ask for my friend."

"You have my word, as elf, and as your companion," Sindel offered and this seemed to ease the big warrior some.

"Although I must admit, I am somewhat surprised even now that you would know of such dark and secret ways in the world of the arcane. From the tone and seriousness of your request, I take it that you know of their great dangers as well."

"I know some of those secret ways and I have witnessed some of their many dangers," Acanthus responded, looking distant as he replied, not hiding his open disgust on the topic.

"Again, although I know it was not by my hand, I am sorry for your pain these magic's have caused you," Sindel offered the now stoic and still barbarian.

"Magic is a dangerous knowledge, on very many levels, even for the skilled and trained as you would find amongst the Circle here in Ferelden. Know that I never take this power or practice for granted and that I seek only to do acts of good with my skills, never works of evil," Sindel promised.

"Do not find me a liar as I am not some hero always finding the better path and always doing what is right, but I am not a blood mage either," Sindel proclaimed to Acanthus.

"Taking up fealty and sharing your body as host to a demon is a thing of nightmares and were that to become of me, I would openly welcome death and smile at you if you were the one offering such a final killing gift."

"And that final gift would not be a hesitant one delivered from these hands," Acanthus replied, staring boldly into Sindel's eyes without any hint of apology for what he had just offered.

A racing chill ran up Sindel's back at the cold promise from the Avarri warrior.

"Well, now that that be settled," Ozwulf offered, finally entering into the discussion, "I be wantin' to know what ye an' the Chantry lass spoke of lad."

"Indeed, I as well," Sindel added as he sat now, extending the fur pelt over his frame to keep the chill night air from taking him.

"Alright, the woman's name is _Sister Plyasenth_," Acanthus began, also taking a seat as he squeezed a bit of cool water in his mouth from his water skin. The exchange had left the barbarian dry mouthed and he needed something to quench his thirst before he could continue. For a moment, Acanthus wished the skin was filled with fire whiskey instead of cool water.

"We met by the spirit of the _Mountain Father_, almost in the same way you felt when we crossed paths not long ago Sindel," Acanthus said, nodding to the elf.

"I am still not sure how I found myself at her temple house," the barbarian said in quiet reflection, "perhaps the last breaths of the winter's wind pushed me towards that place, who is to say?"

"I was wandering the woods, thinking of times now past, and growing angrier with every hurried step I took. Then I looked up and I was there, amongst candle light and scented smells as sweet as berry bushes in spring bloom."

"Next I knew, this good Sister was there, with me, as if she had always been there. She offered words of great meaning, council to my dark mood, as wise as any elder of my clan. Most of all, she listened, as I shared with her some of the pains within my heavy heart and of the great weight that I carried upon wearied shoulders."

"She be soundin' like a true blessin' to ye lad," Ozwulf said gently, trying to ease the tension of the re-telling.

"Aye, she was . . . kind . . . simple . . . patient . . . knowing," Acanthus said quietly.

"She was all of these things and she did not preach to me of her _Maker_ spirit god, she knew it wise not to try such tricks on me. She just talked, one to another, helping me understand or make light of such dark happenings in this strange world," Acanthus said softly as sorrow washed over the barbarian's weary face.

"She surprised me further, for she knew already, somehow, that magic, _blood magic_, was at the root of my troubles and heavy thoughts. This Sister knew what had happened before I had revealed much of anything to her of my travels and of my loss," Acanthus said.

"It was as if the spirit of the _Lady of the Sky_ was upon her and she knew . . . things, things that no one, save the dead, could know."

"That is not as surprising as you may think," Sindel offered, even as Ozwulf threw a cautionary look towards the elf.

"Many of the woes of this land often stem forth from _blood magic_ and_ demons_, according to the Chantry's doctrines. The great Sin of _the Blight_ itself, the original deeds that supposedly caused its first manifestation, was at the heart of these practices according to Chantry teachings. So, the fact that she knew these things or that she knew of their dire outcome might not be so supernatural."

"_Hmm_, I was not aware this," Acanthus replied, thinking about what Sindel had offered.

"It is no issue my friend," Sindel replied, "The fact that she was able to help ease your burden is of great news to me and to Ozwulf. For that, I am glad," Sindel said with a smile.

"I _am_ surprised she did not try and convert you to the Maker's ways or Andraste's Chant for that matter, but as you said, perhaps she sensed the moment was not right."

"Perhaps she be hopin' to fish fer multiple converts by throwin' Acanthus back into the sea an' later nettin' his companions in the process," Ozwulf said with a giggle.

"Perhaps," Sindel said with a devious smile of his own.

Sindel chuckled at the thought. The elf had no love of the Chantry and little time for their _Maker_, or his ways and teachings. Sindel thought about the exchange in his mind for a moment.

"We have been there before," Sindel thought to himself, lost in the moment. "The conversion interventions, I remember them well. Many have tried, all have failed I am afraid." Sindel smiled again at his stubbornness and open defiance towards the Chantry as the thoughts and memories collected in his mind.

"The Sister seemed more interested in soothing my dark mood, which I was grateful for. Once our talk eased of such black memories, the Sister wanted to speak about my current plans, here in Loggerswald. She was very excited, almost hopeful as I remember it now, that I was an adventurer, seeking employment," Acanthus recalled.

"Sister Plyasenth said she had just recently come into need for such agents as me. Something she wanted to keep quiet about from local ears and eyes," the warrior continued, "something important to her faith and her Maker's temple. She was filled with hope in her eyes that much I remember clearly. I told her I was indeed an adventurer and here with others, seeking work, and this made her smile, which I had not seen her do in our brief time together."

"Ye kept it vague then, 'bout us," Ozwulf prodded from Acanthus?

"Aye," Acanthus nodded, "As you say, I made mention only that there were others in my band and that we sought work at present in Loggerswald. But that we sought the right work for the right pay," Acanthus said checking back to Ozwulf for approval as he said it.

"Good, good, well done then lad," Ozwulf complimented, even as Sindel still reflected quietly to himself on the other side of the camp.

"So, we have an interest then with the good Sister Plyasenth and her temple," Acanthus asked excitedly?

Ozwulf did not respond right away, instead his eyes drifted over towards his elven friend. Ozwulf knew that they played with unknown fires and found themselves on dangerously thin ice here. Mixing the Chantry in with an Apostate mage adventurer could have swift and dire consequence, for either side, if things were not handled with a great delicacy.

Ozwulf looked to Sindel's to try and read what the elf was thinking.

"Sindel, what do ye think, tis ye call I be thinkin'" the dwarf asked plainly?

"It would seem like a solid lead, but yet, as always with one of her order, I am not convinced the entire story is so clean or forthcoming," Sindel replied.

"Let us see how this plays out. I do like that one opportunity presents itself to us after another is yanked away," Sindel said, referring to the events that unfolded earlier in the evening at the Shady Rest.

"I also like that she looks for strangers of less renown to act as her agents, this may be to our favor. The good Sister certainly could have petitioned ones such as the blazing Azure Knight to aid her in her bidding, but chose not to for some reason. Perhaps she does not know the legend and his mates are in town at present? Perhaps she does not know them at all."

"The Chantry can be known to pay well, that much can also be said, so their loss may be our gain," Sindel finished as he paced a bit within the ring of warmth of the campfire.

"_True_," Ozwulf agreed with the pacing Sindel, listening to his thoughts on the topic.

"Here is how I say we approach this . . . with great caution! Ozwulf, on the morrow, you and Acanthus return to this woman seeking the details and payment offered for this work. Reveal nothing of our numbers or contacts. Speak only our company's name as you provide detail and show interest," Sindel said to Ozwulf.

"_Company's name_," the dwarf asked with a strange questioning look upon his bearded face?

"Indeed, I already have one in mind for this conversation that will offer us some insight," Sindel said with a devilish grin.

"While you are doing that, I will make ready our supplies with the trade you arranged at the local shop, so that if needed, we can make a hasty exit without her knowing our company numbers or the fact that I am amongst you. It is a secretive ploy, but it is in my best interest I'm afraid. This could be promising, exactly what we may be looking for, but we need to remain cautious," Sindel warned.

"I wonder what she be seekin' from us," Ozwulf pondered out loud. "How will ye feel if she be havin' us hunt down some other Apostate in hidin'? A Dhalish Apostate mage mayhap, hidin' deep within the confines o' the lush Brecillian woods?"

"An easy scenario," Sindel replied, "we would decline and find other ventures to partake in whether here or somewhere else, as is our way. And then seek out my Dhalish brother and help him escape their awful search," Sindel said, flashing a trouble making grin and wink at the dwarf.

"But something tells me, a deep feeling within my belly that I have, that this is something different. This Sister has a secret, to be kept from local prying eyes I think. Our Sister Plyasenth has a dark little thing that we will make her pay dearly for in service and once again to continue as a secret for her," the elf said with more than a little malevolence in his tone.

"Hold now! Let us show some respect with our fee and intent Sindel," Acanthus pleaded, "this priestess has offered me some solace already, and without debt or favor. I would offer some of the same kindness in like response."

"That be more than a little fair elf, I be in agreement with the lad," the dwarf said, bolstering the request from Acanthus and making the barbarian ease a bit with his input.

"Very well," Sindel said somewhat dejectedly. "We will keep her secret if there is one to keep and without ransom to it. But, we will charge fair rate for our time, depending on the danger of the mission at hand. That much I would see done," Sindel said with a final flourish to the make shift negotiation and plan.

"Fair and agreed," Acanthus said to Sindel.

"Agreed as well, then it be settled," the dwarf offered to both Sindel and Acanthus.

"I want in," a voice called out from the darkness and came from above the camp, somewhere in the dark canopy of the trees. The voice was an unexpected soft feminine voice and one that Ozwulf knew well.

"_Dellya_?" Ozwulf called out into the darkness in a state of disbelief.

With that, a tree limb bent and rustled and a lithe shadowy figure tumbled gently to the ground below. There, out of the darkness and into the camp's fire light, the form of the young woman crouched near the ground.

Dellya straightened herself out. She was now bathed in the orange glow of the small fire and stared at the three companions whose eyes and faces all shared an equally surprised look.

The girl had changed from her dirty stained bar maid's apron and attire she wore earlier that evening. She now wore a leather jerkin, fitted more for a man than a woman, with a long sleeve thinly woven shirt underneath. She had traded her apron for soft deer skin leather britches and a pair of high leather soft padded boots. Her hair was tied back with a leather cord and her eyes sparked and glistened against camp's firelight.

That was not all that had changed with Dellya since their last meeting. Ozwulf noticed the girl had a small thin blade that was sheathed on her belt at her hip, along with an antler bone hilted dagger that rested in one of her high boots. A thin wooden short bow, leather quiver pack of arrows, and a worn leather backpack were slung across her shoulder.

"I want in," Dellya repeated, this time with more confidence.

"This is my chance, my calling," Dellya offered to the three companions.

"I knew it the minute I saw Ozwulf wandering around the village earlier this morning. I have wanted to leave this place for years, but it has truly taken root in me these past months since the passing of my _ma_. I need to leave this place and I want very much to come with you."

"I know I can be of service to your band . . . and I am skilled."

"And I am cheap!"

Sindel began looking paler than his normal self once again. The elf wondered how long the young woman had been ease dropping on their conversation and how much she had overheard about certain . . . revealing secrets of a personal nature.

"What did you hear girl," Sindel asked faintly towards Dellya, already calculating the consequences of this added layer of complexity to an already abundant array of complications.

"I heard enough good Sindel. Your secret is safe with me, rest assured."

"I have no fear of mages and magic, nor any love for the Chantry. They are less than useless to us here in Loggerswald and have been since our troubles first started. I owe them little in the way of loyalty and have long since found my faith in _the Maker_ . . . waning," Dellya answered stoically.

This reassurance seemed to put Sindel at ease and the elf regained some of his color. Ozwulf on the other hand did not look so restful. The dwarf's visage looked like a growing storm on the Bannorn's long grassy horizons on a spring afternoon.

"I want to be part of this, _please_, I know of this Sister Plyasenth a bit, although she has only been here for the past year or so. I must admit, I do not attend her sermons nor know her that well, but at least I am familiar with her somewhat."

"And I know the local woods like the back of my hand. I would make a great scout for your band in this area and I would aid your purpose, not matter what it would be," Dellya pleaded passionately.

"_Not a chance_, lass," Ozwulf answered flatly, leaving both Acanthus and Sindel taken aback at his stubborn tone. Sindel eyed the dwarf and noticed a familiar look that he had seen many times before.

The set, clenched, bearded jawline, beefy arms folded and crossed, and tiny dark dwarven stone eyes staring forward like black sling rocks ready to fly forth at you from his head. It was a look of open dwarven defiance. As if Ozwulf were daring any and all to challenge his ruling on the current topic. An open challenge to any that would open their mouth to suggest otherwise, so that he could deal out a series of punches to the head to that challenger. Acanthus had gotten his first taste of it earlier in the evening at the bar and here was again, this time, for Dellya to witness.

Sindel remained silent for the moment, knowing full well that silence and thought would be the wisest tactic at this moment. Acanthus was not so deterred by the fierce defiant statement and look that the dwarf offered. But again, the barbarian could not find the words to offer as his throat parched and his mind raced for the moment.

Dellya took the blast from Ozwulf and the following silence from Sindel and Acanthus as a terrible route of a defeat. She slumped to the ground, too tired to argue or put up anymore fight this long day. Her face revealed to the companions her great disappointment. She had come seeking camaraderie and a chance to escape, but here had only found more obstacles and disbelievers. Overcome and weary from the day's struggles, she collapsed on the ground, face in her hands, and sobbed quietly.

"Ozwulf, let the girl plead her case," Sindel snapped at the dwarf, disappointed in his friend's stubborn response.

"Let her at least speak her mind before you come to such quick judgments on her pleas," Sindel offered in defense, even though he fully expected to set off the explosion that was building within Ozwulf.

Sindel snuck a peek over towards the dwarf and saw that he was in deep thought.

The dwarf clearly liked the young woman and saw something of within her that reminded him of a youthful Ozwulf in the early days, with her roguish ways and daring adventurous attitude. But now, the situation had flipped on the dwarf and on Dellya. Now, the dwarf's defensive and protective instincts had clearly stirred and left the situation at an impasse.

"I for one see skill in front of us. This woman snuck up on us with the stealth of a _Red Lion_ along the tundra meadows of the Frostbacks. That is something," Acanthus said, trying to not only console the upset Dellya with the compliment, but also taking note of her obvious skills.

"But, she clearly lacks respect for privacy," Acanthus fired at Dellya, "and needs to learn when a private conversation is a private conversation. Although in fairness, I have done much the same in days past and have yet to learn all the lessons the spirits have to teach me."

"And who am I to try and deny her chance to stand with us as companion, when only a couple of days hence, you did much the same for me, without proof of deed or skill. Naught but blind trust and a feeling from Sindel's rumbling belly," Acanthus stated with a grin to the group, although he clearly was offering this more to Ozwulf, than to Dellya or Sindel.

"_Stay out of this_, the both o' _ye_," Ozwulf replied sharply. His tone carried the weight and impact of a chastising father wielding a forging hammer. It was filled with abrupt finality as well as ultimate authority.

"I just think every person has a right . . ," Sindel started, but again was cut off again by the dwarf.

"Look lass, I be knowin' what's in ye heart Dellie," Ozwulf said, speaking to the woman directly and choosing not to respond to Sindel's last interrupted plea.

"I be knowin' ye be wantin' to be an adventurer an' I be not sayin' that such as that be not the life fer ye. That be truly fer ye to decide, not I, nor ye father," Ozwulf offered.

"But, I be sayin' that with ye mother's passin', ye father's involvement an' prominence within this region, an' with the Chantry already to be involved . . . there be way too many unknowns an' dangers 'ere to be offerin' up to a young lass jus' startin' out on that path."

With that, the dwarf eased his stance and unfolded his arms, taking a step towards Dellya, who was still on the ground, face in her hands.

"By the _King's Oath_ lass, ye 'ave not even known us but fer a day," Ozwulf exclaimed, his voice raising some in his bluster. "Fer all ye be knowin' lass, we three may be bandits, or cut throat murderers, or worse."

"True," Sindel drifted in.

"We could be templar's or with the Chantry," the elf dead panned trying to lighten the mood while taking a poke at the local faith. Ozwulf shot a stern look at the elf even as he finished speaking. Sindel rolled his eyes in dramatic fashion.

"Ye ain't helpin' ye_ idjit_," Ozwulf shot at Sindel.

"Ye 'ave a lot to be learnin' still lass an' this ain't the way to be goin' 'bout that lesson," the dwarf said abruptly, stopping a few paces from Dellya.

This last statement pushed life back into Dellya's overwhelmed and distraught face. The young woman now looked up at the nearby dwarf, a renewed hope in her moist blood shot eyes. She took a deep breath and rose, strength pumping once again into her form.

"These lessons you speak of Ser dwarf. What better way than with friends I say, with mentors who have something to teach me of the ways of adventure," Dellya now took her final shot, sensing some opportunity here to try and plead her case one final time with Ozwulf.

Ozwulf looked caught off guard for the moment and his eyes narrowed as he listened to Dellya's counter.

"You're not murderers or bad people; I trust my gut on that," Dellya continued, taking a step closer to the dwarf.

"Working a tavern each night for years now, you get a read on people quickly and I knew all of you were not only good ilk, but free spirited and adventurous as well. My kind of companions or at least what I have always dreamed would be my kind," Dellya said to Ozwulf, taking every opportunity she could to plead her case.

"Lass, ye words be warm an' be well received 'ere. There be a way 'bout ye that be promisin' good things lie ahead fer ye in ye future," Ozwulf stammered out.

"I believe ye to be makin' a fine adventurer one day, an' sooner rather than later at that, 'ave ye no doubt there."

"But, I be not havin' ye blood 'pon me own hands while ye be takin' up this dangerous choosin'," Ozwulf shot back, softening his stance and expression a bit as he said it.

"As I be sayin' before, these roads we to be travelin' be not taken lightly. There be danger all 'bout an' they hit at ye hardest when ye be at ye weakest an' when ye least are likely to be ready fer 'em to strike."

"Just give me the chance Oz," Dellya pleaded once more, honest emotion filling her words.

"Teach me and I will learn. Show me and I will watch. Guide me and I will not falter friend Ozwulf. I promise to be more than cautious in my ways while I gain these lessons, I promise you," Dellya begged.

"I know this path is dangerous, but I am willing to walk it. The choice is my own and whatever happens, will not be upon your conscious. Please, give me this chance."

The dwarf watched Dellya's plea and took in her words as deeply as a drink of that golden ale he had enjoyed earlier in the evening at the Shady Rest.

"Tis true,' Ozwulf thought to himself, "she be havin' skills an' with the party numbers set to be totalin' four, there be more eyes to be watchin' the lasses back an' to be protectin' her as needed, until she be counted on to watch out fer herself. An' she be knowin' the area well enough an' that be no small advantage in itself."

Dellya and the others remained quiet for the moment as all could see the dwarf was lost in his own thoughts. The sight reminded Sindel of a _Black Haller_, or judge, back in the courts of Denerim, deciding the fate of one standing before him in the halls of law. Ozwulf looked deep in his own thoughts as he considered all the facts and options while the others waited pensively for his verdict.

"The lasses father, he be an issue though an' that be not taken lightly neither," Ozwulf murmured, more to himself than out loud.

"But if we be tellin' the lass nay, surely she be takin' to the hard roads by her lonesome then. An' then, who's to be sayin' what lot she may be findin' herself with in the near days," Ozwulf continued to half whisper, half murmur to himself.

A multitude of different bearded scrunched up faces washed over the dwarf as the moments passed. The companions watched the facial display and the dwarf's discussion with himself like a theatre performance in the streets.

Ozwulf quickly thought back to the pair of vagabonds trying to buy daggers in the trading post earlier in the day in Loggerswald. Would they be next to take on Dellya as a scout, to go hunt bandits alongside, only to leave her behind to be murdered like her poor mother as they ran off in cowardice at the first hint of real trouble?

Images of the girl fleeing the bandit littered woods only to be shot down from behind, murdered, alone in the woods, flooded into Ozwulf's thoughts. Ozwulf shut out the train of streaming imagery and glanced over at Sindel and Acanthus, eyeing them over for input.

"_Well_," the dwarf asked openly to his companions who were watching the scene play out?

Sindel was especially quiet as the dwarf noticed he was busting at the seams to say something while the dwarf was lost in thought, but somehow had restrained himself to silence.

"I say _yes_, we could use an inside source of information on the good Sister and we could use a scout's eyes in these woods," Sindel blurted out, now that Ozwulf had given him permission to speak his mind on the topic.

"I too say _aye_ as well . . . _if_ . . . ," Acanthus said as he pivoted towards Dellya, ". . . you can handle a weapon," the barbarian finished the open but direct statement, waiting to see how Dellya might respond.

"Of course I can," Dellya quickly said as she turned towards Acanthus defiantly, a renewed excitement and hope to her words. Ozwulf for a moment recognized this side of Dellya as the one who had stalked him earlier and now defied any around her to test her skills that she had practiced and worked so diligently at.

"I am well trained with the bow and the dagger," Dellya stated defiantly.

"And my father has even given me a few lessens with the short blade, although I have not mastered it yet," the girl admitted, hoping that would not cause Acanthus to think her weak or incapable.

Acanthus just grinned, happy to see Dellya show some warrior's fire and the barbarian appreciated the passion in her words. It was a similar decision Acanthus had been forced to make and defend not so many months ago.

"Alright," Ozwulf relented, "be joinin' us then. But only on a couple o' conditions as we be needin' to be smart with this an' not look to be screwin' up a potential job nor am I t' be gettin' a village angry at us at the same time. Not to be mentionin' gettin' ye an' all o' us killed in the meantime."

"_Anything_," Dellya pleaded, anxious to gain the dwarf's consent and begin her new life on the open road as an adventurer.

"First off, ye 'ave t' be listenin' to us . . . to me, at all times, no questions to be asked," the dwarf said to Dellya, giving her a stern stare.

"Second, 'pon the morrow's morn, while the lad an' me go an' be speakin' to this good Sister, ye will not be with us, nor with Sindel. Ye will go an' make ye way back to ye father's Inn," Ozwulf continued.

"Ye then are to be makin' peace with ye father to be settlin' his worried thoughts an' feelin's."

"Ye be tellin' him ye be goin' fer a hunt or whatever gets ye out o' the village fer a few days an' more at a time. To be clearin' ye daft girl brain out from arguments like ye be havin' with ye father in the past. Do not be mentionin' to him ye are hookin' up with adventurers or the like! That only be makin' him want to be huntin' us all down, ye an' us both."

"Trust me, I be knowin' his type very well," the dwarf assured Dellya.

"Once we be hearin' out the Sister's request, we can be decidin' how to move forward with ye father on the longer term," Ozwulf said as Dellya nodded her head in agreement.

"Lastly lass, this _tag along_ by ye, it be a trial basis _only_ . . . fer now at least," Ozwulf said.

"Ye be helpin' us with this caper an' as go, we be seein' what ye can be offerin' to the group in skill an' service. An' we be seein' how well ye can be listenin' to instruction. Then we be decidin' whether o' not we be partin' ways or addin' ye to the band fer good."

"This 'ere trial run be not a permanent decision nor a final invitation. T'would be this way with mos' others that be wantin' to join up an' share the loot . . . fair enough," the dwarf asked as he offered his hand to Dellya to seal the agreement.

"Have there ever been any others to want to join us," Sindel smirked?

The dwarf's hand shake was not returned by Dellya.

Instead, Ozwulf was met with a huge bear hug from the young woman, who was as happy as she had been in many years.

Sindel smiled at the sight and Acanthus went back to unpacking his camp supplies and tending to his sharpening stone, although even he wore a slight grin at the heartfelt scene.


	8. Chapter 8 - The Sister and her Beast

**Chapter 8 – The Sister and her Beast**

The next morning started early for the adventurers, as there was much to be done this new day. Ozwulf went over the many details of the plan once again with everyone over breakfast, to make sure there were no more surprises as the group looked to position themselves for a job while trying to keep a low profile around Loggerswald.

Dellya was to go patch things up with her father and make an excuse to be gone a few days, perhaps a week at most. This would not be easy with Brinn worried about the bandits in the woods these days, but Dellya would calm those fears by explaining to her father that she would be taking a hunting retreat to the west, towards the Bannorn for a couple days, visiting cousins on a farm just west of Loggerswald. These cousins farm were well away from the Brecillian and the likes of the bandits and Dellya had taken these retreats often over the past couple of years. Ozwulf liked the story Dellya had come up with and felt like the small lie would hold, at least for the week or so to buy the group time to see what the job may entail.

In the meantime, Acanthus and Ozwulf would go and hear out the job details from Sister Plyasenth at her Chantry House. If the mission sounded interesting and the rewards fair, they would agree to take the job and bring back the details at the camp for all to hear. The fall back plan would be doing some bandit and wolf pelt hunting amongst the deeper paths of the Brecillian for a few days. This back up job would be far less intriguing, might be contested with other sell sword groups in the way, but it would still pay hard coin. It could also provide some adventure for the group in the local area, at least until something better came their way. And it was something less treacherous that Dellya could aid them with, a safe alternative for sure.

Sindel would use the day to resupply from a list the group had made the night before, at the local trading post. Sindel insisted to Ozwulf that he would be pricing horses with the livery before he returned to camp. Ozwulf balked and argued about this minor delay, but eventually gave way to Sindel, throwing up his arms in frustration with the elf.

Sindel had always done this at each village he had ever stopped in, ever since he had first taken up the road of the adventurer. He hated walking on foot and loved riding tall upon the back of a powerful steed while on the trails of the wilds, or so he had claimed on many numerous occasions to those that would listen. Ozwulf was never sure this was the heart of the matter, as he had never even seen Sindel on a horse, and sometimes believed this was just an elaborate day dream Sindel wished for that would never come true.

This reoccurring fantasy had always been met with a shocking dose of cold reality from Ozwulf as the dwarf would love to say, "_How much hard coin we be talkin' 'bout elf, fer these noble steeds ye be wantin' to be barterin' fer'_?"

And whatever the price Sindel would throw out to Ozwulf in each new village, it would be met with the pointed response of, "_Ach!_ _Do ye be thinkin' we be nobles an' princes o' Ferelden with that bit of talk then_? _Hard coins don't be fallin' out o' the sky ye know!_"

As Sindel added his stop to the livery to his tasks this morning, Ozwulf just snickered a stubborn chuckle and went on to packing his gear, letting the elf have one more day dream this morning before getting to harder work.

After all was said and done, the group hoped to meet back up at their make shift camp sometime after high noon, with hopes of putting some distance on a trail or some sort and be away from Loggerswald before the sun was down for the day.

The last bit of discussion before the group had finished breakfast came from Sindel and was on the topic of a company name. Everyone seemed to have an opinion on the choice that Sindel had offered up and none of them were unified about it, nor had any other suggestions for alternatives.

After several rounds of open debate on this new topic, Ozwulf finally agreed to use the choice Sindel came up.

"_Tis only a lie that we be usin' as cover anyways. Who be carin' what we be callin' ourselves this day, tis not like we be havin' to stick with that name after this place. Let the idgit elf have his silly name so we can finally be 'bout makin' coin this day_!"

With that last small detail in place, the party finished breaking down the little make shift camp and each headed off in different directions for their assigned tasks at hand.

Acanthus and Ozwulf made their way down along the edge of the woods until they returned to the area containing the _Chantry House_ that Acanthus had visited the previous day. As he approached the old structure, Ozwulf looked over the small plot of shady woodlands surrounding the area. His eyes scoured the surroundings for as many details as he could take in.

Ozwulf noted the small chapel building was connected to a small stone cottage that butted against it, as if one was leaning on the other for support to stand up amidst the trees of the forest. The structure itself looked old but well maintained and it had the feel as if pieces of it had been added and expanded upon several times over the many decades it had been in this place. A small stone half wall framed the plot of land and Ozwulf noted many specimens of vegetation and wild flowers growing all along the perimeter of the old stone cottage. The little chapel and cottage painted a quaint and serene scene to the dwarf and as Acanthus had stated the night before, '_it felt comforting somehow"._

Acanthus began moving towards the chapel and then noticed the small front door was not open this morning, as it had been the day before. The Avarri warrior stopped his advance as he glanced about, not quite sure how to proceed. The puzzled Acanthus down at Ozwulf for assistance as the big warrior slowed to a stop. The stop of movement and stare from the tall warrior made Ozwulf stop his scanning of the area. The dwarf stared up at the tall warrior, wondering what had stopped his advance towards the chapel.

"What be the matter lad," Ozwulf asked, squinting as morning sun streaked in through the forest canopy above them?

"The door, to the holy place, it was open yesterday but is not today. Do we open it, or. . ," Acanthus was grasping for the polite protocol here and hoped the dwarf might know how to proceed without offending the good Sister.

"In the Hold, when the Spirit Lodge is closed, one must call out to the Spirit Talker to see if he is in commune with the spirits or not before disturbing him," the Avarri said quietly.

"_Bah_," Ozwulf grunted, striding past the warrior and up to the cottage door.

"Tis early, perhaps the good Sister be a late riser is all. Let's be seein' . . ."

Ozwulf knocked at the wooden door to the cottage, peaking into the nearby front window in curiosity. The dwarf was disappointed, as the window was well draped from curious glance. He waited a moment more and then rapped a couple of more hard knocks at the cottage door. It was then that the Chapel door opened, not the cottage door where the dwarf had been knocking. This sent a mild surprise to the pair of adventurers as they each took a jerky half step backwards unexpectedly.

Standing in the open Chapel door frame was Sister Plyasenth.

Acanthus noticed the woman was adorned very similarly to the attire she was wearing the previous day when he had first met with her. She wore a long flowing white and yellow patterned cloth robe that was draped in the back and hooded over her head. One or two small dark golden curls poked out from around the hood, along her small forehead. The Sister's eyes were dark, like grey river stones beneath dark clear stream water. They narrowed as she looked over the pair of visitors in the morning light of the woods outside the chapel.

Acanthus saw that the Sister still wore a very unrested look about her lined face, making her appear many years older than she probably truly was. Her piercing gaze was almost immediately replaced with a warm beaming smile as she recognized the tall figure in the sunlight.

"_Acanthus_, good morning to you my friend," Sister Plyasenth said, greeting him gently on the arm as she spoke.

"I am so very pleased to see you again and so soon at that. I prayed to _the Maker_ late into the night last evening that you took what I said to your heart and that our paths would soon find one another once again."

"And this must be a good omen, as you not only return, but return with a friend I see," Sister Plyasenth said as she offered a smile in Ozwulf's direction. The Sister offered a half nodded bow to the dwarf in front of her.

"Please, do come in," she said, "I was just getting the Chapel ready for visitors this morning when you arrived. It is almost ready for the day's seekers of guidance. We can speak in here, out of the morning cool chill," she offered as she stepped into the chapel, making the chapel door available to the two companions as she went inside.

Acanthus stepped in, following the Sister, bowing his head to avoid a collision with the top of the door small wooden frame. Ozwulf followed behind the warrior, scanning all about one final time before entering the small chapel.

Morning light beamed through the stained glass portals making a colorful and muted array of dim multi-hued spectrums within the small chapel. Ozwulf felt a very thick quiet in this place, behind mud and stone, nestled into the deep shadowy woods of the Brecillian. Deep shadows hid away details of the small chapel's interior, outside of the multi colored areas of light that splashed in from the sun through the windows.

"Me good Sister o' the Chant, I be called Ozwulf," the dwarf started.

"As ye may 'ave been guessin', I be an ally o' Acanthus' ere' an' partner to our adventurin' company that be travelin' through these parts."

Ozwulf peered about the small chapel as he spoke his introductions and continued deeper in. He followed Sister Plyasenth as she moved further away from the door and towards the far wall of the worship area. About half a dozen rows of wooden pews were lined along the floor for patrons on either side of a center rug covered aisle. Braziers could be seen in the corners of the room, but were not lit here in the morning light. Bronze candle holders lay about window seals and stone depressions here and there for times of worship after the sun had set. The place was well kept and looked cared for.

"We be grateful fer ye interest in ye considerations fer hirin' us fer ye special task fer the Chantry."

"Tis an honor fer sure an' we be doubly pleased ye offered words o' kindness to me big friend 'ere. The lad has be seein' some dark times o' late," Ozwulf continued, pointing to Acanthus as he came to a halt about halfway through the small chapel.

"Well met master Ozwulf," the Sister replied while walking slowly to the far end of the chapel.

"The council I offered your friend was my pleasure and my duty, think nothing of it. I was blessed that _the Maker_ showed him to my chapel for such aid in the first place."

Sister Plyasenth sat down on the raised stone dais steps near the alter area.

There, Ozwulf took notice for the first time, was a very large, black mastiff dog that looked like a muscled shadow against the stone steps of the dais. The large creature was barely noticeable in the shadowy dim light of the alter area of the chapel, where no colored light reached.

"_Mabari_," Ozwulf thought to himself, "_a War Hound_?"

The dwarf eyed the large black muscled beast over before returning his glance towards the Sister, who sat so close to the large dog that the dwarf found himself worried that the beast might swallow the small framed woman whole if it had the inclination to such.

The big creature was easily a hundred twenty stones or more and made up of a shiny black short haired coat of thick muscle. The hound's shoulders and chest bowed out rippling with strength even as it lay comfortably on the altar's steps. If he were standing at full rise, the beast would have reached the dwarf's bearded jaw with ease. The beast's thin coat showed off the creatures layers of muscles in the dim shadowy filtered light. It wore a thick black leather hide collar adorned with metal studs, and it watched Ozwulf and Acanthus with intensity as they slowed their approach. It had yet to take a breath, shift its weight, or make any noticeable noise at all as it rested on the steps a dozen paces from the dwarf and the Avarri.

Sister Plyasenth rested comfortably next to the beast and padded it on its flat head with a familiarity, waiting for Ozwulf and Acanthus to settle. Acanthus also now noticed the large beast, his eyes widening a bit, but he remained still and quiet for the moment.

The Sister and the large Mabari hound struck an odd image for both the dwarf and the barbarian to take in. A delicate Sister of the Chantry sitting quietly, smiling, stroking the head of this massive war beast almost seemed surreal to the pair of companions. Certainly, Acanthus had not seen this large beast the day before and now wondered how he had missed such a detail in his last visit.

"A fine beastie ye 'ave there, Sister," Ozwulf nodded, pointing to the large war hound that seemed to be enjoying her gentle strokes upon it flat massive head.

"A _Mabari_ war hound if I be guessin' correctly. It be a rare an' treasured prize indeed in these parts, an' it be a rarer sight still to be seein' 'round such delicate hands as ye own me good Sister," Ozwulf said.

"It be surprisin' to me that the beastie even be allowed within such hollowed confines 'ere in the Maker's halls an' such."

Sister Plyasenth stroked the ears of the large black beast, smiling at Ozwulf as she did so. She stared at the dwarf with an almost cold and penetrating gaze, as if she were listening to each word that the dwarf offered up and was paying almost too much attention to each one. It gave the dwarf a cold feeling in his stomach and a slight chill rose up on the dwarf's hairy neck.

"This must be what the daft elf be talkin' 'bout," Ozwulf thought to himself, "the Chantry does seem to be havin' an odd way 'bout them. That stare she be offerin' me now be akin to that left for one of Sindel's renegade lot."

"I was not aware of the creature's value master dwarf," the Sister replied quietly, breaking the stare.

"The hound wandered to my cottage a month or two ago. At first, I thought he may have been part of the bandits group from the deep woods. But the creature was just hungry and sniffing about for food I now believe, abandoned it would seem from wherever he had come from."

"I offered him a bit of food, water, and caring, as I would for any stranger, and he has been here ever since. None have ever come looking to claim him and he is friendly enough to me. I call him _Blacktail_ and he serves well as a guardian over a lone woman out here by herself amongst such dark times as these," the Sister said, again rubbing the large dogs head in gentle admiration.

"As ye say Sister," Ozwulf nodded in agreement and continued to recover from the Sister's cold strange stare.

"A _Mabari_ you called him," the Sister asked?

"Aye," Ozwulf responded, "if I be not mistaken."

"T'would be considered a prize to be fetchin' substantial coin at any market cross Ferelden, at least in larger fares, such as _Denerim_. It be said such beasts be trainin' fer years, from their birthin', in the arts o' war, combat, loyalty, fearlessness, and trackin'. I've seen me a couple o' 'em fight 'longside warrior Knights an' the lot. They be a fearsome force to behold if ye ever be seenin' one!"

"I am pleased as well that you have some knowledge and etiquette of _the Maker_ and his chapel's as well Ser dwarf," Sister Plyasenth added, picking up on more than the dwarf would have liked of his earlier comment regarding the hound.

"Be fergivin' me good Sister; although I 'ave walked in the chapels o' _the Maker_ once o' twice in me times, I be far from versed in the ways o' such things."

"The big mutt jus' seemed a bit out o' sorts 'ere in this fine temple was all. A bizarre sight fer me own small dwarven eyes to be seein' was all," Ozwulf offered apologetically, bowing his head as his said it. He was trying hard to play the fool more than the over observant visitor with far too many suspicion's to arouse at this early stage of the game.

Ozwulf felt a bit angry at himself for not doing a little more investigation before knocking on the door. He was usually more disciplined to set about for recent tracks and activity in an area he was visiting for the first time. The dwarf had trusted Acanthus a bit too much and now wondered what other telling clues he might have missed by not following such normal practices. His self admonishment took a back seat as the Sister rose once again, approaching Ozwulf and Acanthus.

"So, let us speak freely then. You _are_ interested in adventuring work master dwarf, for you and yours," Sister Plyasenth asked?

"Indeed Sister," Ozwulf answered.

"Good, then let us continue," the Sister said.

"Just so that we are clear about intent, as I know I was a little short with some of the details I offered to Acanthus yesterday about the task at hand."

"This quest I have need of help with, is a personal one, and as it stands, it is not official business of _the Chantry_," Sister Plyasenth said.

"Details like that be not so important to a group such as ours good Sister," Ozwulf lied.

"More importantly to us be the details regardin' difficulty, dangers, an' o' course, the reward fer such important and helpful tasks."

Plyasenth grinned at Ozwulf's statement. The grin was one that was thin, dark, and unexpected. It did not sit right upon the tired, sweet, pale small face of the middle aged Chantry woman.

The look made Ozwulf think that Sindel was next to him, screaming in his head, "_See, see! Did you see that dwarf, evil as a grinning Demon I say?_"

Ozwulf held the thought back for now and took in a half breath, "I be lettin' that wild broken nut o' an elf wear too close to me mind," the dwarf thought to himself.

"I think you will find my request of great interest and value," Plyasenth continued, returning to her normal look as if the grin had never been there.

"It has some difficulty attached to it and some dangers of course, but the reward will be most fitting I believe," the Sister said.

"Now tell me how I know I have the right group of adventurers before me for this dangerous task at hand. I have not heard of you or your band and surely this is not all there is to your party, just you and noble young Acanthus," Plyasenth prodded?

"How many more are in your band and what deeds have you to claim to your reputation?"

"And can you work quietly and quickly," the Sister added before the dwarf could answer.

"Our numbers be more than just the lad an' me self, rest assured good Sister," Ozwulf said.

"Our band be callin' ourselves, _Second Chances_," the dwarf said, clenching his jaw a bit as he did so which muffled the response.

Acanthus noted the struggled words and grinned slightly before looking away.

"We be havin' left many o' heroic deed completed in our bands wake," Ozwulf continued.

"Many o' these great deeds be takin' place further to the south reaches of Ferelden, near the edges o' the southern Bannorn an' there bouts. We even be known to be findin' ourselves in the dire stretches o' the dread _Kocari Wilds_ from time to time. We be helpin' Bann an' Arl alike over times, fought many o' battles with dread vicious foes an' dire fanged beasties, an' laid claim to many a bounty 'long the trail's withered ways," Ozwulf boasted.

"Indeed, this sounds most promising," Plyasenth said with a forced, almost calculating grin this time, much different than the one she had revealed earlier.

"I even like your company's banner name, _Second Chances_, very fitting for my quest I dare say," Plyasenth hinted at as she paused considering what Ozwulf had just said to her.

Ozwulf looked to the ground, biting his lip to hide his disgust at the possibility that the job would sway their way by chance of the elf's stupid childish offering of a party name.

"Very well then," the Sister exclaimed.

"You have won me over enough to reveal more of the task at hand to you Ser dwarf, but I reveal this only in great confidence. All that you hear this morning is to be kept between you and I, no further, whether you take the mission or not."

"Do we have an accord," Sister Plyasenth asked with a very stern look upon her face?

"Agreed," Ozwulf said with a nod. Acanthus nodded his head in agreement as well and listened intently.

"How well versed are either of you in local lore of these parts," Plyasenth asked the companions.

"More specifically, how well do you know any of the history concerning the local nobility in this region?"

"That be none at all me thinks, but I be assurin' ye," Ozwulf started to deflect the lack of knowledge so that it would not end the opportunity so quickly, but was cut short by Plyasenth.

"It is not important good dwarf, I was just curious," Plyasenth interrupted as she continued pacing along the front of the dim chapel.

"The task at hand is one steeped in a tragic mishap within the Chantry regarding a very powerful set of magical gemstones. This task also involves a bit of mystery, an old local rumor that has never been validated, and a dark history of an old noble family that once resided in this region of Ferelden," Plyasenth offered.

Ozwulf liked what he had heard so far and turned with a nod and a wink towards Acanthus. The barbarian also flashed a grin in return at the sound of this intriguing mission. Both quickly buried their excitement as they turned back to the pacing Sister Plyasenth.

"If this type of tale is the stuff that interests your band then I would have you go deep into the Brecillian Forest, in search of an old noble family's plot of land where their burial tombs are rumored to be found upon," the Sister continued, finally stopping her pacing to look at Ozwulf.

"_An'_," Ozwulf asked, sensing her pause was just that, a pause before continuing with more details about the mission?

"Once there, I would have you investigate this burial plot for clues that would provide evidence that these gemstones may be hidden somewhere on or within said tombs," Sister Plyasenth said with a raised eyebrow.

"_Burial lands_," Acanthus whispered, "will there be spirits at this place?"

"There is that chance," Plyasenth responded, "although none have ventured there in some time, so who is to say for sure."

"The spirits of the dead can be dealt with," Ozwulf added, showing a flare of bravado as he said it, "tis o' minor consequence to us."

Sister Plyasenth smiled her thin hint of a cold calculating smile once again at the dwarf's response, although Acanthus did not share the smile or the bravado on display from of the others.

Ozwulf noted this as he glanced back at the Avarri. The big warrior seemed lost in thought, staring off through the stained glass chapel window, deep within memories of a past lifetime. Ozwulf turned back to the Sister as she continued, her pacing starting once again as she continued. Ozwulf could only hope that Acanthus would shake off this rattled look regarding the spirits before it cost them a chance at this opportunity.

"If _the Maker_ sees it fit to bless us with his luck on this quest and if you are even half as good as you boast, then perhaps you may even be able to recover these gemstones."

"_If_ they are there that is."

"And_ if_ they are found, I would have you bring them to me, _immediately_ upon their recovery. If we find ourselves so blessed, I may yet right an ancient wrong for my Sisterhood and see justice for an ancient crime that was committed long ago. Does this sound of interest to the _Banner of the Second Chances_, master dwarf," Plyasenth asked?

Ozwulf liked what he was hearing and was hard pressed to hold back his grin beneath his dark bushy beard. Although Acanthus looked less enthused at the moment, Ozwulf was sure this wave of uneasiness would pass for the big warrior and that he would see the opportunity here for what it was. Ozwulf was quite sure that Sindel would absolutely love this quest as it contained ancient magical gems, dark historical lore about the Chantry, and an exploration of an old haunted set of ruins, everything a true adventurer sought in an opportunity. And this had the promise of better payment than searching for herbs for the local apothecary or hunting wolf pelts for loggers.

"Although we be not discussin' payment details yet, I be more than a little interested in this 'ere quest good Sister. Our band be up fer the task at hand an' be standin' at the ready nearby," Ozwulf answered, his eyes dancing with excitement.

"_Excellent_," Plyasenth said, her narrow lined face also lighting up with a hint of restrained excitement at Ozwulf's own giddiness.


	9. Chapter 9 - The Eyes of the Maker

**Chapter 9 – The Eyes of the Maker**

"Then let me tell you in greater detail what I require and how things came to this point," Sister Plyasenth began.

"Several generations ago, the _Orlesian High Chantry _had a prophet, a seeress if you will," Sister Plyasenth continued, again taking to her pacing.

"This seeress was called, _Sister Anessa_ and she was of an Order that referred to themselves as the _Order of the Sacred Light_."

"It is said that Sister Anessa joined this Order at a very young age, no more than ten summers old when she first arrived in Orlais I believe. But it was said that this unique girl was sent to the order by _the Maker_ himself, as the young Sister' mind had been given dreams and visions."

"At first, the Chantry had been wary of such things, believing the young girl to be a possible Mage, or an Apostate, or perhaps even driven mad by possession or some Demon placed thoughts. But after closer investigation by the High Chantry as well as by the High Mage Circle in Orlais, this theory was dispelled and Anessa's visions were from then on, taken as more of a true miracle and blessing from _the Maker_ himself," Sister Plyasenth said, her eyes brimming wide with a wild excitement.

"Almost all of Anessa's dreams and visions were prophetic, as each of them eventually became truth. Each of these visions was layered with great accuracy, detail, and each seemed steeped with great importance to everyone within the High Chantry."

"Sister Anessa quickly rose up the through the ranks within the Orlesian High Chantry, until she became revered to all within the order, save the High Divine herself," Sister Plyasenth said, now slowing her pacing as a darker, shadowed look washed over her face.

"I'm afraid the story now takes a darker turn. You see, Sister Anessa met an untimely demise at the very young age of only eighteen summers old, as she was struck down in her budding youth by rogue agents that worked black murderous plots against the Holy Chantry at that time."

"The lass be assassinated," Ozwulf whispered?

Sister Plyasenth did not answer, instead just nodding and turning away from the dwarf to collect and continue her tale. Ozwulf had watched the Sister intensely as she had recanted the story so far. The dwarf noticed a misting in Sister Plyasenth's eyes as she turned from him. She was trying to hide the sadness the story conveyed to her personally, almost as if he revealed a secret weakness she owned.

Ozwulf found this to be out of place and continued to stare of the quiet Plyasenth. It was curious to the dwarf that just the previous evening; Acanthus had been so complimentary about the good Sister's compassion and empathy she gave to him in his time of need. Yet now, showing even a hint of true sadness or empathy seemed to be a mark of shame for the Sister. It was a puzzle indeed to the dwarf. He said nothing, choosing to watch and learn for now, instead of questioning the conflicting behavior.

"One of Sister Anessa's last visions before her untimely demise pertains to a falling star from the heavens that would streak from the night's sky on a Summer Solstice eve, high over the Frostback Peaks, between Orlais and Ferelden," the Sister continued.

"This falling star was to strike a great icy peak, leveling it from the horizon forever, and in its wake, those that searched the icy remains where it struck, would find a gift from _the Maker_ himself," Plyasenth said, clearing her voice a bit in an attempt to wash out the emotion from her re-telling.

"After Anessa's death, the Orlesian High Chantry took close watch for the remaining dreams and visions of Anessa to come true. This one in particular, involving the sky comet, was watched most closely of all. True to the last revelation of Anessa, a star did fall from the heavens, and did strike a mountain peak along the Frostback Range between Orlais and Ferelden, upon the first evening of the Summer Solstice that following year," Plyasenth said.

"_Makers breath_," Ozwulf said in a whispered reverence.

"Indeed," Plyasenth responded, excitement building once again as she continued.

"A search party of most loyal Templar and Chantry hierarchy were sent to search the area that was left within the star's impact, in the name of the Holy Chantry and for the High Divine."

"What this group found was a pair of matching brilliant diamonds within the blackened scorched earth and frozen holes of land where the star had shattered the icy peak. These beautiful diamonds were each the size of a small apple and pulsed with the powerful life essence of _the Maker_ himself! The holy Orlesian Chantry later would dub these prized artifacts, _the Eyes of the Maker_," with that, Sister Plyasenth paused and again faced Ozwulf and Acanthus, looking them over once more.

She then turned and knelt, reaching down to pet the large black hound below her. The dog continued to rest quietly, listening attentively while it sat upon the steps of the chapel dais.

"What is a _High Divine_," Acanthus asked Plyasenth with a confused innocent look?

"Forgive me, I am not well taught with spirit caller's lore. Is this person a spirit, or a god, or a high leader?"

"Tis a term o' their church, o' the Chantry me friend," Ozwulf offered, hoping to explain a bit more once the story and their negotiations were complete and the pair were away from this place.

"Your friend is correct," Plyasenth cut short the dwarf's explanation.

"We term our highest ranking Sister in each of our Order's as a High Mother. From this blessed group, the Holy Chantry in Orlais will select one special member to represent and take station as the _High Divine_. This station is held for all the High Divine's lifetime in most cases as she is believed to be chosen by the Maker himself, not so unlike our most _Holy Andraste_."

"And is this always to be a . . . _woman_," Acanthus asked without hesitation, "I mean, a _Sister_," the barbarian stammered a bit, trying to be more sensitive with his words.

"Yes, always a female follower of the _Chant of Light_," Plyasenth answered.

"Such is the way of our Doctrine as it has been since the raising of _Andraste_, the chosen bride and beloved of _the Maker_ himself. It is the greatest honor amongst our Sisterhood, a blessing really, to be made ready as the bride of _the Maker_ in living flesh. This is the role and station of the High Divine of our church."

Acanthus' head filled with many more questions about brides, Andraste's, as well as what words like _Doctrine_ truly meant, but the barbarian stifled them all for now, knowing the good Sister had more to reveal of her tale.

Ozwulf too remained silent, allowing the Sister to not be sidetracked with Church hierarchy and tales from the ancient chants of Andraste. Sister Plyasenth settled again, sensing no more questions at the moment and continued her story.

"These _Eyes of the Maker_ diamonds were immensely powerful, that much was known right away, but why _the Maker_ had sent them from the heavens or what exactly they could do, was unknown to all," Plyasenth continued in reverence.

"Perhaps if young Anessa remained alive, she would have been blessed to know what they were to be used for or why _the Maker_ had blessed all of Thedas and his Chantry with this gift. But alas, she had been taken already beyond _the Veil_ of this life and all was left to prayer and speculation for a time."

"So, _the Eyes_ were taken back to Orlais, to _Val Royeaux_, to the great Temple of Light. There, they would be studied by Chantry scholars of the highest and wisest orders. _The Eyes_ were made known to but a very select few amongst the church hierarchy and kept hidden within its strongest deepest vaults. They were to be guarded by the most powerful Templar knights the Chantry had in its service to ensure no wrong doing would happen to these gifts from _the Maker_ and to ensure they would not fall into the wrong hands," Sister Plyasenth said with caution.

Ozwulf pondered the tale a moment and it reeked of many obvious holes to him, but he remained silent and let the Sister continue her tale.

"If these gems be guarded an' so prized, why were they now in need of recovery, here in the Brecillian Forests, on some old plot o' land," Ozwulf thought to himself? "An' why had the Chantry been so secretive 'bout such gifts? Shouldn't all _the Maker's_ children an' followers know 'bout such blessed things?"

"An' what hands be powerful 'nough to be makin' the Chantry lose sight o' these wondrous gifts? How was it that Plyasenth, some pauper Sister in Loggerswald knew o' this great secret lore an' now was to be knowin' perhaps how to find such lost artifacts as these? Why had Plyasenth asked us to be secretive 'bout this task an' asked this o' herself, an' not o' the Chantry?"

So many questions overflowed within Ozwulf's mind as he rolled over the tale, but he kept them to himself for now, wanting to hear the tale's finish before saying anything to derail the job at hand. Ozwulf would have his turn to question and poke, but he knew patience was called for, at least for now.

"The Orlesian Chantry and the High Divine only retained the _Eyes of the Maker_ for study for a little less than a year," Plyasenth said as she sighed out a heavy forced breath before pausing, showing her obvious despair.

"The powerful artifact gems were _stolen_ you see, believe it or not, and have since, _never_ been seen again."

Ozwulf's eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened with this last piece of the tale and the Sister noticed the questioning look the dwarf offered. For a moment, Ozwulf wondered if his face had revealed too much of his impatient questioning and perhaps now he had angered the good Sister. Ozwulf cursed his emotions beneath his bearded face, not wanting to spoil the opportunity of great wealth that this task may be able to fetch.

"Come now then, wait no more, _ask_ your question Ser dwarf," Sister Plyasenth said flatly, her face guarded of emotion and her command dripping with a forced politeness.

A pale stare was all that stood openly from the Sister towards the dwarf. The look insisted on a response but the tightness in her clenched jaw revealed impatience and even a hint of frustration.

"I be tryin' to be polite good Sister," Ozwulf said, easing his tension a bit as the words washed out quietly from his mouth.

"I just be findin' it all a bit hard t' believe that these artifact eyes, made by _the Makers_ own most holy and exalted hands, be taken at all an' that ever since, the Chantry be fine not findin' these lost miracles."

"_Stone's throw_ Sister . . . I 'ave seen the strength o' a mad Chantry as evidenced from their _Exalted Marches_ 'gainst their foes an' such. When they be determined to be doin' somethin', not much in Ferelden, or Thedas fer that matter, be standin' in their ways," Ozwulf offered with a flourish.

"Fergive me fer sayin'," the dwarf offered, his eyes going to the ground.

The Sister did not seem caught off guard with the questioning of her tale. She simply stopped her pacing and started once again to pet the large Mabari's black head that was now below her. She took a deep breath, relaxed a bit, and collected her thoughts before answering the dwarf.

"Your questions all have a valid place here good Ozwulf, rest assured," the Sister answered, "and they are not without answers . . . so no need for tensions nor any misplaced apologies."

"These questions you have only_ steel_ my feelings about you and your companions and confirm that you are of a right quality. There is wisdom and sharpness here to match your obvious courage," the Sister complimented with a nod towards the dwarf.

This seemed to relax the tension in the room. Ozwulf nodded a courteous bow and presented a grin beneath his beard. The Sister returned the dwarf's grin with one of her own and then continued.

"How the gems were stolen, who stole them, and why the artifacts have never been recovered are all tied to my original question I presented to you. They are all steeped in the history of this region and some of its mysterious nobility," the Sister offered.

"Long before the visions of young Sister Anessa or the diamond Eyes of the Maker that fell to us from the heavens above, there was a family of minor nobility that made their way all the way from the _Tevinter Empire_ and settled the lands around these parts of Ferelden during the latter years of the Age of Storms. The families name was called _Tu'Nevall_," Sister Plyasenth said.

"This family made its wealth dealing in slaves within Tevinter and continued that trade here in the Brecillian. Even though the Chantry and the local laws forbid slave trading, House Tu'Nevall continued their ways, stocking their coffers with hard coin earned from the sale of men, women, and often Dhalish elves. This trade continued for several generations while they resided here in these forested lands."

"This family was also said to have magic in their bloodline, with many of their children showing the traits of magedom as they grew from childhood into adults," the Sister said as she stooped to scrape up some excess wax from around the base of the statue near her.

Ozwulf steeled his face and blanked it of emotion upon mention of magic and mages. Even now, the dwarf felt the Sister's intense glare upon him, bathing him in questioning stares, seeking out intent and opinion on the mentioned subject at hand.

Ozwulf could only hope Acanthus was playing the same uninterested role that he was attempting. The dwarf finally snuck a peek over to his left where Acanthus had been standing, as he felt Plyasenth's gaze leave him as she stood once more. Acanthus was staring out the stained glass window into the beaming sun, his mind and thoughts looking more adrift and bored than much else.

"_Good lad_, well played," the dwarf thought to himself as he watched the disinterested barbarian continue to look entirely bored by the tales details. The Sister continued once again, as she walked over to now stand just a few feet from the dwarf.

"Years passed," Plyasenth continued, "and eventually the family's prominence, wealth, and local power came to a great height in these parts."

"The head of the family at the time was a very powerful man that went by the name of _Lord Darkmoor_. This man seemed to eschew his family name, leaving it behind as he grew to manhood and assumed the role of patriarch of the family. It was rumored around these parts, as he took on the title of Lord and assumed control over his family's dealings, that the man was mage born. This was later confirmed by the Chantry, but they gave him a different title. One you may be more familiar with, that went by the title of _Apostate_."

Plyasenth looked over to Acanthus now with some sympathy and the barbarian returned her look, leaving the façade of day dreaming behind and snapping to attention at the mention of an Apostate.

"You see good Acanthus," the Sister offered to the warrior who was now staring over at her, "many have been entangled with Apostate mages, long before you and yours, and often it ends in great tragedy. So take some solace in that you are not alone in your tale or with your grief."

"Thank you good Sister," Acanthus said, "your words are of comfort to me, although I already fear the outcome to this tale as one ending in blood."

"I wish your prediction was wrong, but it is not," Plyasenth said to Acanthus with a nod.

"This, _Lord Darkmoor,_ eventually came to reveal this Chantry accusation bestowed to him as truth, proving to all around him to be a powerful Apostate mage that not only flaunted his inner power, but was not afraid to use it in most evil and foul ways to make good his various agendas."

"Many claimed Darkmoor wore the mark of Apostate as a _badge of honor_. Many bloody battles ensued between the Tu'Navall family, the mage that was Lord Darkmoor, the templar's of Ferelden, and the local Chantry."

"_Blood Magic_ was said to be involved, that much is well known, and demons were rumored to be set loose upon these lands for a time. Many innocent and some not so innocent people were injured and many more were killed, and eventually Lord Darkmoor was destroyed, his evil finished," the Sister concluded, no hint of emotion revealed in her finality.

"Lord Darkmoor's lands were burned in _heresy_, his family ruined, dead, or scattered. All of his decedents were marked for watch by local Chantry and all within this region became quick to not speak of this dark and sorted past as time moved forward."

"Now, what was _not_ known at that time to the local Chantry and was only recently discovered by me, through some chance I might add, was that this Lord Darkmoor may have been the very person who stole the _Eyes of the Maker_ in that time," Plyasenth revealed.

"You see, a set of old scrolls, brought to me by chance, from a merchant several months ago, revealed some other _secrets _about the family Tu'Navall. The scrolls were written from firsthand knowledge, as they were recorded by the last heir of House Tu'Navall, a _Ser Terragar the Black_," Sister Plyasenth said, still watching Ozwulf for bits of recognition of names and lore alike.

Ozwulf was well aware of the continuing probing stares and although he knew nothing of this family or their secrets, he kept his interest forward and showed nothing of recognition of this bit of lore.

"This last known heir, _Ser Terragar_, died almost a decade ago and there are no others in the line still alive. Terragar revealed in his last words that his grandfather, one he named Lord Darkmoor in his own hand, had made a terrible blood magic pact with a powerful Demon of the Fade and this Demon granted Lord Darkmoor a way to come and go physically from the Fade as he wished. The writings described it as some sort of unholy gift from the demon, an artifact or gate of sorts. It was termed by Terragar as the _Heart of Darkness_," the Sister said.

"More than that, the Demon would allow Lord Darkmoor, in return for blood sacrifices, ways through the Fade to cross great distances at a rapid pace and to enter areas under watch, not so unlike a Spirit or Ghost within _the Veil_. With those gifts, the demon promised Lord Darkmoor the ability to take what he wished from all over the many lands of Thedis."

"This would explain . . . perhaps, how a simple Apostate mage, could rise to such power so quickly without many resources. And might explain how this Apostate mage could openly arm himself against the great Chantry and its powerful determined Templar's," Sister Plyasenth surmised.

"Although the Eyes were never mentioned in Terragar's scrolls, there are many known facts in the Chantry libraries that would point to these details being a chance that Lord Darkmoor was the one who stole these Eyes. Many of the Chantry's scholars had some evidence that the theft was done by magic and that the Fade was involved as the area near the vaults where the gems were kept showed thinning areas between our living world and the Fade," the Sister said, trying to connect the events for Ozwulf and Acanthus, much the way she had done herself in recent weeks.

"Lord Darkmoor was very recluse and secretive in his life and with his arcane means. At least this was so until the end, when things became more public and desperate for him before his final end. Lord Darkmoor died shortly after the Eyes were stolen, although the details of his death are vague to a point and unrelated to the crime at hand," the Sister added.

"My research revealed a _Ser Paramore_, a Templar known for both courage and his formidable ways of dealing with Abomination mages, was the one who finally slew Lord Darkmoor in a grim and bloody confrontation. But Ser Paramore offered no revelation of magic gemstones or any lore of the sort upon completion of his task or so the Chantry history books note."

"Yer story be most intriguin'," Ozwulf said, "I be followin' ye thinkin', that much be sound. But, me dwarvin' brain still be havin' a few tidbits gnawin' at its tiny roots."

"To your other point Ser dwarf, the Orlesian Chantry did indeed mount a great search for _the Eyes_ for years after they were stolen, but eventually stopped thinking all together that they had been stolen at all. Instead, the hierarchy offered that perhaps they had been destroyed or lost or taken back by _the Maker_ himself for reasons unknown. It was a dark secret; a perceived punishment if you will that not many outside the High Chantry of Orlais even knew or whispered about out of potential shame," Sister Plyasenth said to Ozwulf.

"Some offered that perhaps it was for allowing foul agents to take the life of young Sister Anessa," Sister Plyasenth said, "although there were many theories I am sure."

"All that is documented is that as the years began to pass, the reigning High Divine passed into _the Veil_ of the dead and the new High Divine that was chosen, lost interest in the old tales shortly after she assumed her new role," Sister Plyasenth said, completing her tale to the companions.

"A stunner o' a tale it be, fer sure Sister," Ozwulf said, taking in the many pieces and parts of the story.

"So ye be thinkin' these gems still be layin' 'bout, lost to time an' mystery, amongst the remains o' this Darkmoor's possessions. Perhaps to be buried on his family lands or with one o' his ancestors or descendant's remains then?"

"Yes, one can only guess and pray for hope," Sister Plyasenth pleaded in response.

"There is truth in the old texts I have studied and I only knew of the older Chantry lore from my days in study in Orlais as a novice Sister. Historical Chantry lore was a special interest of mine at the Sisterhood. I somehow feel as if the Maker himself is testing me to investigate my hunch and if possible, recover these lost artifacts for the good of the Chantry and for the entire world. To be able to heal old sins of the past perhaps, a second chance if you will?"

Ozwulf grimaced at the words even as they escaped the Sister's lips. He pushed past them and continued his thoughts.

"And ye be wantin' to be keepin' this all _hush hush_ as to not be openin' ol' wounds an' rumors if ye be wrong eh," Ozwulf asked?

"Yes, again your wisdom shines most bright Ser dwarf," the Sister nodded, "I do not want the hunch of a lowly forest Sister of the Chantry to stir up old secrets in my church or bring up bad memories of this evil family in these lands if I can help it."

"If I am somehow right and you can bring proof of this in some type of lore or records you may come across in your searches, then I would be forever in your debt. And if _the Maker_ truly blesses my resolve and somehow you were to find the lost gems themselves, it would be a great boon for the Chantry and all the lands of Thedas! A true tale of good winning out against the evil of demons and blood mages alike," the Sister said with a flourish.

"And if I am a _fool _on a fool's errand, then I will only embarrass myself, waste some of my personal coin I have saved, and none in the area or within my Sisterhood will know the tale or of this wild useless chase. Either way, I will pay you well for your time and troubles involved, for both the deed at hand and for your silent tongues," the Sister concluded.

"Ah, _payment_, words I be lovin' to hear me good Sister," Ozwulf smiled.

"What kind o' dangers could me companions an' I be expectin' to be comin' by, other than restless spirits an' the like. And what payment be ye offerin' fer this task ye so eloquently be describin'?"

"The family's manor and estates were burned and leveled long ago by the Templars," the Sister replied.

"But all of the family line are buried a couple of days north of here within the woods on a plot of land where the crypts remain intact. I doubt Lord Darkmoor has a crypt honored there as the Chantry would not have allowed such things, but his heirs would rest there. The area has been avoided for decades according to locals that I have inquired with, as many believe the place haunted by evil taint and the remaining power of Lord Darkmoor himself."

"I guess even in his demise he still casts a dark and long shadow in these parts. Superstition should have kept the tombs mostly as they were decades removed I would think," Plyasenth said quietly as she began to light many of the chapel's candles about the hall with a small hand torch that had been resting in a holder near her.

"I would have you go north to these tombs and have a look about. See what you can find there within, pertaining to the gems or my guesses. I would assume the worst as I am sure you may, there could be old traps to prevent grave robbery, old magic aimed at Templar enemies of the family, and perhaps even the taint of undead spirits as we have already discussed. Or, it could all be just weeds and old stones, with little to offer in danger or in lore of the lost relics."

"Either way, for your time and efforts just looking about the place, I will pay you two_ Gold _hard coinsin King's mint. That is more than respectable pay for less than a week's time of venture, even if there proves to be some danger involved."

The Sister waited for a response now, again eyeing Ozwulf to see if her offer had struck a chord of excitement to the dwarf. Ozwulf was sifting through the tale, the offer, and framing of the mission in regards to danger. There were many assumptions here and the story sounded in parts more like a child's treasure hunt than a true holy mission of glory for the Chantry. But, the coin offered was steep and if this was a fruitless chase, the Sister sure was willing to pay a lot of hard saved coin to track it down. Two gold coins were many times over the other options at hand; whether they were to be bandit bounties or wolf pelt collecting.

"Let us be considerin' fer a moment that all things be blessed by _the Maker_ himself on this little trek," the dwarf replied.

"Say we be gettin' to this cursed plot o' land where this _Tu'Nevall_ family all be buried about, an' we be havin' a look 'bout. An' perhaps we be findin' some lore that offers some testimony to ye theories. An' then, perhaps, we be lucky enough to be stumblin' 'pon theses _Eyes of the Maker_ themselves," the dwarf paused a moment, sending the Sister into an anxiety filled stare.

"Then what, we be bringin' these prizes back to ye an' there be some type o' massive reward, a bonus me be thinkin'," the dwarf hinted at with a raised eyebrow towards the Sister.

"_Of course_," the Sister offered up quickly, "a handsome bonus for sure!"

"One fit for a dozen adventuring companies. I of course would not have that kind of reward on hand, but, as heroes to the Chantry, you would find yourself accompanying me personally to _Denerim_ perhaps, where the Chantry there would be brought up to speed and they would repay you a hundred times over what I could. I can assure you of that Ser dwarf," she boasted confidently.

At this point, Acanthus broke his stoic stance and beamed a smile towards Ozwulf. The dwarf also was in high spirits. A week's worth of work for two gold coins in payment was a steep bounty indeed. It removed them from the Sister's prying eyes and from Loggerswald itself and if this Lord Darkmoor was involved in this tale, this treasure hunt could set the adventurers up for their remaining years. It had even more potential than Ozwulf had ever considered.

"By the lyrium filled veins of the Deep Roads then, I be willin' to offer up half me own share o' that hard coin jus' to be seein' Sindel's face as he be paraded about Denerim as hero to the Chantry," the dwarf thought to himself and began to chuckle a snort of laughter out loud.

"A sight t' be seen fer sure," he thought, regaining his composure beneath his bearded face.

Ozwulf turned to Sister Plyasenth and grinned broadly, "I be proud to be sayin', if ye will be havin' us, the adventuring party, _Second Chances_, be at ye disposal fer this 'ere mission."

"It is done then," the Sister offered quickly in excitement, seemingly as pleased as Acanthus and Ozwulf both.

"You are _my heroes_, what do you need from me to set to the task at hand in motion," the Sister asked?

"My personal excitement to see if there is truth at my guess work has me anxious beyond reckoning. How quickly can you see this through?"

"We can be leavin' 'fore this very nightfall good Sister as we be travellin' light at present an' be always at the ready fer a job at hand," Ozwulf stated.

"There be not much we be needin' t' get started, other than perhaps a map o' the area o' where these plots be found at in this deep thickets o' woods."

"Although . . . ," the dwarf paused, a flashing thought washing through his mind as he did so.

"What is it Ser dwarf, name your need and I will help if I am able," the Sister pleaded, caught up in the prospect of the deal being finalized.

"_Horses _Sister," the dwarf said, "although pricy an' more than a little bother to meself, if ye perhaps had access to some o' those tall beasts, even if they be rented, t'would hasten ye quest both to said plots an' back again to our own return to ye," the dwarf hinted.

"I shall see what I can arrange at once," the Sister replied. "I am not without resource here in Loggerswald and I know a few who owe me a favor or two. Perhaps I can call these favors in to hasten your journey. Give me an hour or two to make arrangements and return then. How many shall I procure for your company," the Sister asked Ozwulf?

"Six should be doin' the trick me thinks," the dwarf replied, thinking as quickly as he could on the fly.

Ozwulf did not want to tip his hand to the party number nor did he want the Sister to think the party too small or unwarranted for her offered challenge or her offered reward. At the least, Ozwulf could string along a couple of spare horses for the short journey to be used as spares or pack animals as needed.

"Alright, consider it done good Ozwulf," Sister Plyasenth said with a smile as the three of them walked out of the dimly lit chapel back into the morning air outside.

"You are welcome to wait here until I return"

"Many thanks Sister, but the lad an' meself be havin' some final provisions we be needin' to set ourselves 'pon to be at the ready fer the journey. We be circlin' back to see ye fer the horses an' map in a couple o' hours if that be ok?"

"Of course," the Sister said.

The large black hound had watched it all from the stone dais in the temple, listening to the discussion with an intellect in his eyes not normally seen in a common beast. The hound now stood, stretching its muscled legs and arching its long inky back, then followed the group outside the chapel and into the front yard of the cottage. As Ozwulf and Acanthus bid the Sister goodbye for now and departed the cottage yard in excitement, the large black beast walked up near Plyasenth and paused at her side as the heroes scurried off in the distance.

"What do you think my dear_ Blacktail_," Plyasenth said softly to the large hound as it brushed her leg, watching the pair stride off back towards the village. "Will these heroes do for our task at hand," the Sister asked the large hound?

"Are these truly the ones our Master foresaw in his visions?"

The large Mabari looked up at Plyasenth; almost as if he had understood every word as clearly as a person would have, including the last question he was asked directly. Blacktail's eyes stared upwards and locked onto Plyasenth's own. The dog did not growl or bark, but the look itself seemed to please Plyasenth as an answer somehow.

"Good," she continued, speaking out loud to herself as much as to the dog, "I think so as well."

"They seem courageous enough to get the job done, mercenary enough to be driven by the coin offered, and yet heroically faithful enough to make the right decisions when the time presents itself," the Sister said running her pale hand through the large hounds ears in anxious satisfaction.

"_Go _now then," the Sister commanded, "follow them, like a shadow in the darkest night."

"Do not let yourself be seen nor heard. Stay with them, make sure they stay on task and ensure that they find the under crypts on the Plots. If they return from that place, see that they have the _Eyes_ in hand. If you see they have recovered them, hurry back to me with the news, as we will have much to do and a short amount of time to see it all done in."

"For nearly a decade now I have waited patiently for this time and now it is finally upon us. Nothing can go wrong or be left to chance. Too much depends on this mission and the choices ahead," the Sister said to the hound with great passion behind her words.

Plyasenth's face was a mix of fiery resolve and desperation, her eyes flared wildly in the light of the partially blocked sun overhead beyond the canopy of tree limbs.

The large hound bounded forth into the woods in a sprint, acting again as if it had understood each and every word the Sister had spoken to him.

"And loyal _Blacktail_," the Sister called out, "do not forget, I have my other agent in play as well."

"_If _she proves as loyal as she boasts and they return with the _Eyes_ as instructed, ensure she is aided in escape and is returned to me safely before you return. I have promised her as much if she does as I have commanded," the Sister shouted to the hound as it continued its run towards the shadowy woods in a full run.


	10. Chapter 10 - Destiny

**Chapter 10 – Destiny**

Sindel was moving about the shady village of Loggerswald bright and early in the morning. The elf still wore a grin from camp when he had proven victorious in the name choice of the adventuring company. Sindel felt very pleased that he had not only come up with the name to use for this current quest, but also that he had defeated Ozwulf's objections in a heated debate just an hour ago. This feeling of accomplishment had carried with him all morning as he finished performing his tasks.

Sindel had just finished up at the Trading Post and now reviewed his list of tasks once again.

He noticed all the items on his list were now complete. The elf looked about and caught a glimpse of the nearby livery. The sound of the blacksmith's hammer rang against the opposing anvil in the distance. Several horses mulled about within the outdoor stalls adjacent to the smithy's work shop.

Sindel smiled at the thought of buying and riding horses for this adventure. He felt a sense of déjà vu as the feeling washed over him as he had stood near a dozen liveries in a dozen villages in his past, thinking the same thoughts.

The feeling was quickly pushed away by the imaginary thought of Ozwulf popping into his mind and chastising the elf with an all too familiar reminder . . .

"_What ye be lookin' at elf? Horses? Ye think we be noble sons o' Ferelden or somethin'? How much coin ye think we be havin' ye daft fool? No need t' be even answerin', t'is not 'nough an' that be that_!"

Morning passed quickly. Sindel glanced up at the partially shaded sun above the thick canopy of trees limbs overhead. He knew he had finished everything he had set out to do, but now needed to start his return to the make shift camp to meet the others. They would be returning to the camp soon enough and the elf was eager to hear about the details of the job and if they were to take up the quest for the Sister of the Chantry.

Sindel began to move back towards the outer reaches of the village, leaving the image of the livery and trading post in his mind's wake. He found the marked trail heading north from the livery and began a hastened pace back towards the group's make shift camp. As he made his way back, Sindel's thoughts drifted once again to the potential job and of course, to the Chantry.

The Chantry as a whole had and would always be a symbol of oppressive tyranny for Sindel. That purposed group seemed to represent judgment upon the Dhalish and in Sindel's mind, acted out the role of as enforcers against Mages in general; both were very unsettling to the elven mage.

It was this combination of things that caused Sindel a great deal of anxiety each time he had thought about taking on this mission since it had first been debated. As long as the Chantry existed and as long as the Templar's enforced the Chantry's will, there would always be an ever-present tyranny for Sindel and those like him, whether Dhalish or Mage. And in his particular case, both. The thought of helping anyone within the bounds of that organization, even with a simple drink of cool water for a dry parched throat, made the elf grow angry.

The next few minutes were filled with a series of Dhalish curses hissed aloud, with several large rocks kicked along the dusty wooded trail, followed by heavy footed stomps of frustration from the elf. His racing thoughts of frustration eased a bit at the sight of the familiar camp ahead in the shady glade.

Sindel's eyes darted about the small make shift camp he had left several hours earlier. A ring of stone for the fire pit . . . a worn foot path to the camps right . . . matted green grasses . . . the quiet meadow beyond . . . tall thick groves of elm.

It all seemed to be as the elf had left it this morning, but something seemed amiss. A feeling began to gnaw at Sindel as if a tiny rodent were trying to scratch its way out of Sindel's belly from within. Sindel's heart began to thump faster within his chest.

Sindel reached inside his jerkin and fingered his thin wooden wand that was concealed within. He pulled out the light stick of wood and with a flick of his wrist, Sindel concentrated and released a bit of his magical energies. His senses widened around him as his magics released through his wand and into the air around the camp. His essence floated about in spirit form searching for things that could not be seen with normal sight.

The arcane spell was quickly interrupted by a timid mouse of a voice coming from behind a nearby tree on the opposite side of the camp.

"Is that . . . _magic_," the voice whispered?

Sindel quickly snapped open his eyes, realizing his intense concentration had momentarily forced them shut. Sindel drew in a deep breath and held it, his eyes darting all around the area the voice had come from. It was a soft female voice and a familiar one to the elven mage. Sindel exhaled in relief as he responded, although adrenalin still raced throughout his tense form.

"_Sayeth_," Sindel hissed?

Stepping forth from around the large tree's base was the ragged thin girl with the hazel eyes and beautiful dragon skin art wrapped about her arm. The _Witch Girl of Loggerswald_ was here, in the group's camp, quite unexpectedly.

"What are you doing here," Sindel barked, more than a little startled by the girl's presence here in the secret camp.

Questions and assumptions began pouring into Sindel's mind all at once. So many, the elf had to concentrate just to stammer out the first one to the girl.

"How did you find me . . . out here? Why have you sought me out at all," Sindel snapped, trying his best to find composure in the unexpected situation.

"The same way I knew you were using _magic_ just now," Sayeth answered.

"Do _not_ look to answer my question with a riddle girl, I am in no mood for games at the moment," Sindel spat, his pale cheeks flushing with a rush of blood.

The elf was clearly perturbed with Sayeth's presence here in the camp, as well as with her half answers wrapped within her own half-truths. Sindel's temper did not go unnoticed by Sayeth as her meek expression had turned from childlike wonderment to one of a darker and more anxious state.

"_Please _Sindel," Sayeth begged, "do not . . . _magic_ me into bone dust!"

The girl cowered back towards the tree, ducking behind it for cover, hiding her partially from the frustrated Sindel. Sindel cleared his mind trying hard to regain his composure. The overdramatized display of fear from Sayeth missed its mark though and just frustrated the elf even more.

"_Stop that_," Sindel hissed.

"I know, that you know, that I would not _magic_ you into anything. I don't even know what that is supposed to mean exactly. Where did you even learn that expression from . . . _magic me into bone dust_? That makes no sense at all."

"Well, you did look rather fierce just now and more than a little angry," Sayeth answered, peaking at the elf from around the thick base of the tree.

"I was not aware that you had that edge in you Sindel elf."

"There is much you _do not_ know about me," Sindel said sternly, "and much I still _do not_ know about you."

"Yes, well, perhaps I have a suggestion that may be of help on both of those parts," Sayeth offered, now coming back to the front of the tree to stand openly in front of the elf. Sindel's eyes narrowed at the statement and he began pondering several guesses at what was coming next.

He was wrong with all of them.

"Sindel, I have a _need_ . . . no, I have a _request_ of you," Sayeth whispered.

"You and I have gotten to know each other some and we seem of a similar nature any many ways."

"I know what you _are_ and have said nothing about this to anyone. And you know of my ways in dealing with some of the villagers in this place and you have said nothing about that fact to anyone. We seem allies already, if not more . . ."

"_And_ . . . ," Sindel barked again, not sure exactly where this was all going?

"I believe I am to be a . . . . _Mage_ . . . like you," Sayeth said.

The statement sprung forth from the girl like a bucket of splashing cold water thrown into Sindel's face.

"I am . . . untrained, I guess you would say. I have no interest in the _Circles_ or their cruel keepers. I am in need of help in this plight and I am in need of this aid without delay I fear," Sayeth said softly, a hint of worry blended into her words.

Sindel's heart beat hard within his chest at the bleak revelation. His eyes darted back and forth to see if anyone else might be about as he wondered what angle this pale young girl was playing at. Was this some sort of game from the odd youth, or perhaps a Chantry trick to capture the elf? Many thoughts rolled over and over in his mind, jumbling about in a mess of confusion and questions.

"Tis every bit true Sindel, you sensed it before, I am sure of it, even before I revealed this to you just now. I am sure you had an inkling, a suspicion, something . . ," Sayeth pleaded.

"What do you mean girl? I never . . . ," Sindel began to shoot back at Sayeth.

"Sindel, I believe it is my time. My _Harrowing_ is to begin soon! My test of will and magic rushes forth towards me like a runaway wagon cart flying down a hill and I fear the dark things I may find waiting for me there at it's arrival," Sayeth begged, a chilling look washing across her pale dirt stained gaunt cheeks.

"I do not know what I should do. I have no one to turn to. I need help. I need _your_ help," the girl pleaded to the elf.

The request from the orphaned girl was devastating to Sindel.

A flood of powerful memories crashed into the elf as he remembered a time long ago, a memory of his own _Harrowing_, a time still every bit haunting and powerful to him even to this day. The adrenalin in his veins pumped along again and his heart fluttered within his chest.

Sindel remembered the day in crystal clear images, as he did each time he dreamed within his sleep, each time he crossed our world and into the other place. Each time _the Fade _was touched, that particular nightmare was revisited by him in small sharp pieces. He remembered the cool crisp autumn breeze, the crackle of dried fallen leaves crunching beneath boots in the streets outside the windows of the Alienage in Denerim. He remembered the ancient damp musty smell of the Alienage house attic in fall, like old leather and musty sour rags.

Familiar sounds morphed from memory to reality as Sindel's mind blurred and his stomach knotted.

The air around him began to small of static crisp electricity and damp molded leaves of autumn rot. A shadowy darkness set about the camp as if the sun had just fallen behind a thick passing bank of graying storm clouds. The taste of magic could be felt on Sindel's tongue as he breathed in this changing scene around him.

Sindel no longer saw Sayeth in front of him and the scenic green meadow beyond the camp itself was now just a blur of faded dim amber colors, like muddied hay upon a field.

Sindel knew that he had crossed over with his magic and was now standing, so to speak, in _the Fade_. Panic took a stronger hold within the elf and his breakfast rushed up his stomach and out onto the ground in a dizzying burst.

Sindel shook the taste of berries and old biscuit from his mouth while he tried to steady his thoughts and set his will.

The elf knew if he did not recover quickly and set himself against what had just happened, it would be his life at risk or worse, his life and all of his companions. Sindel centered himself and for the first time in many long desperate moments, the elf felt his feet and legs stand firmly beneath him.

Sindel drew in a deep breath of _the Fade_ air about him and although still feeling a bit dizzy and weak in his stomach, his arcane energies began to take in _the Fade_ and burn hot with power. Sindel blinked once and opened his eyes wide, focusing his sights upon his surroundings.

Memories of his _Harrowing_ came splashing like rain drops of a new approaching storm all about him once again and he shut them out tightly from his thoughts. He knew that it was those very memories that had caused him to unhinge from the mortal realm and it was that lack of discipline mixed with those raw unexpected emotions that had him now set squarely in _the Fade_ as opposed to his forest camp. Danger lurked all about and Sindel knew well what was at stake here in these next few moments.

The elf glanced about the amber scene as dark imagery blended around him in a close likeness of the forest camp he stood in just a few moments ago with Sayeth. Faded yellow and green glow now replaced the crisp blue skies above and the trees and ground stood as blurry brown dark fragmented stretches about him. Strange patches of glowing green ambiance radiated in small areas where grass should have formed near the trees and his ears were picking up an audible buzz somewhere about the air in this place.

"Take a breath there Dhalish," whispered a female voice to Sindel that came from his left, "fore more than just ye breakfast spills about of ye."

The female voice was thick with a heavy Dhalish accent. The voice was soft and sweet, like honey dew on a summer's day and it drifted towards Sindel like a distant Dhalish melody heard from his childhood.

Sindel shot an apprehensive glance to his left and took a reactionary step backwards as he did so, away from the voice.

"_Easy_, try an' relax a wee bit eh," the female Dhalish voice said. Sindel traced the voice back to its source just a dozen paces or so away.

There, stood a woman, a female Dhalish elf of sorts; although Sindel knew immediately that this was no living breathing female elf, but instead something that _the Fade_ had a hand in shaping.

Sindel stared at the female elf creature for a moment.

She seemed pale in complexion, a faded ivory shade, like a glowing light from the moon's edges on a clear summer night. Her garb seemed simple and was tattered in places. Her gown was stained a dark shade of raspberry, almost black, and reminded Sindel of a mourner's gown.

The female elf's hair was cut short like boys, which was rare for a Dhalish woman, and was spiked about its top. Her hair looked as if she had just woken and not combed it in ages. But the dark black crop of hair shined, even here in this shadowy amber place. Within this yellow hazy and gray spectrum of _the Fade_, the woman's hair was like a raven's wings against the sun.

The woman's eyes were unusually large to Sindel, un-naturally large for a Dhalish at least, and they were very round, almost too round to look natural. Most disturbing of all, the elf thing's eyes were filled completely with an inky blackness, showing no white to them, no color in their centers. No centers to them at all for that matter! They reminded Sindel of the infinite black of night sky or a deep cavern pool of still black water.

"He is na 'round ye know," the black eyed elven woman offered, pointing about the Fade's sprawling amber horizon as she spoke.

"I mean, the one ye are so spooked fer. The _black one_ right, the hunger Demon that hunts ye sometimes here an' there in this place. The one ye be so frightened of . . ."

Sindel jerked back another pace or two as he recoiled at the woman's words. Words of a hidden truth that now came from the inky eyed female creature in front of him. As he rocked back, his limbs went stiff and for a moment, he looked more like a Zombie than an elven man.

"_Ach_! Do I look so 'ideous then," the woman asked, her head drooping downward as she asked the question with a blink of her large black eyes?

The elf thing looked truly hurt with her reaction towards Sindel's frightened and awkward back pedal.

Sindel was unsure what to say or do next. Words were not there for him. His mind was scattered. He did not know if he should flee or attack. If he should try to concentrate and focus his power or maybe just stall for more time to think about what was happening.

Sindel knew it unwise to speak to any denizen of _the Fade_, at least without preparation, planning, and an agenda, but nothing else seemed to fit correctly with his current situation. This thing was such a walking, talking, contradiction to him. Her voice was soft and melodic, thick with the accent of his kin. Her words were offered up in the heavy accent of a Dhalish of old, like a true Spirit of the old woods. At least that was what they sounded like in his dreams. But the look this thing carried, its appearance, and its place, here in the Fade, all screamed _Demon_ to Sindel! And this alarmed him to his very core.

"What do you mean, _he, _is not around," Sindel stalled, taking in a half breath while stopping his back pedal?

"The thing, the Demon, the one that chases ye here in _the Fade_ from time ta time," the woman answered.

"Ye know the one I speak o', the one from ye trials of magedom. The one ye don' like na one bit. Although I canna' blame ye, I do nah much like him either. A foul hunger thing he is if there ever be one, even for this place eh?"

"What do you know of this . . . you . . . you . . . _demon_," Sindel spat?

"And more importantly, what do you really want? Why are you here, stalking me like this?"

"_Ach_! I be no _Demon_ Sindel elf," the woman exclaimed.

"Ah should be insulted by ye, but I know how I look to ye. Eyes like black suns, skin as pale as a ghosts glowing garment . . . an' yet, tis not as it seems."

A soft smile crept across her small Dhalish white face. Her dark purple lips clashed against her pale complexion as she smiled. It was beautiful and terrifying to Sindel all at the same time.

"Ye know that though, don't ye Sindel elf? I be no _Demon_."

Sindel thought through that last bit. This creature knew his name, knew of a fear from his deepest past, one that he had shared with only two others in his lifetime. And now this thing claimed she was not a demon as she appeared. Sindel was quite perplexed at this creature and all it had offered up. He had never met anyone or anything quite like it in all his years.

"Only in _the Fade_," Sindel cursed under his breath.

"_If_ this is true, then you seem to have me at a great disadvantage here woman," Sindel retorted.

"_Who_ and _what_ are you, if you are not a _Demon_ of this faded realm? And how do you know of me and my past . . . experiences here?"

"Me name is _Dreeza_," the ivory skinned elf woman replied.

"Dreeza Oaklii if'n I be proper fer me introductions. T'was once me Dhalish given name when I was a livin' breathin' soul 'pon ye own world."

"Then you are . . . _of the dead_ . . . ," Sindel interrupted in a hushed awe?

"Na dead, na 'livin', I be . . . _beyond_ that . . . I be somethin' else now. It ken' be a wee bit difficult to be explaining sometimes," the woman offered with a slight shrug of her shoulders.

"I mean ye no harm, jus' know that Sindel elf. I 'ave seen ye strugglin' here for a wee bit o' time now. An' I have seen ye a few times before that, here and there, in _the Fade_ I mean . . . although not like ye are right now."

The elf girl giggled.

"Tis been some time since I seen ye this worked up an' set to a panic in this dread place," Dreeza teased.

Sindel cautiously ran through what the woman had just offered. He was more than a little intrigued as to what manner of creature she truly was and what purpose she had in taking notice of him here within _the Fade_. And it would appear that this was not the first time she had spied on him and his dealings within this place.

"More and more curious," Sindel thought to himself.

"_Uhm_, can you assist me, in returning I mean, out of _the Fade_ and back to my world? I seem to be a bit unfocused at the moment," Sindel asked Dreeza in a cautious whisper.

"Sure enough," Dreeza answered, offering Sindel a wide smile with her pale eggplant shaded lips, "tis comin' any second now anyways so be at ye ready."

Sindel now faded from Dreeza's sight, her large black orbs and purple lips lingering in his mind. Cold water splashed across Sindel's face as he gulped in a mix of crisp cool water and clean forest air.

"_Sindel_! _Sindel_! _Wake up_," Sayeth shouted as she was stood over his fallen form, dousing him with a splash of water from a water skin in her hands.

"Are you ok, what happened? You collapsed and were murmuring and at times . . . screaming!"

Sindel drew in another deep breath and regained his thoughts. He rose to a sitting position and saw the contents of his pack dumped out all about him on the ground. Sayeth noticed the observation and quickly began picking the things up with an apologetic look.

"I am sorry, forgive me, I just sought a water skin, to try and wake you I mean," Sayeth offered.

"I shook and shook you at first, but it did no good."

"It's ok," Sindel replied, grabbing her green inked arm gently, easing her tension with his tone.

"I appreciate the help. Dizziness took me and caused my swoon I think. I am glad you were here to help me."

"Are you ok now," Sayeth asked, a look of concern on her face.

"I must be coming down with something perhaps. I think I'm ok now, I just felt a bit light headed all of the sudden," Sindel lied.

"Ok," Sayeth said as she helped Sindel to the ground.

The girl looked more than a little confused by all the excitement, especially since her intrusion had started the strange series of events.

"I am_ truly_ sorry for my part in your dizzy spell, if I had anything to do with it. I have ruined much it would seem; such is my hex in this_ stupid_ mud ball of a world. These things seem to be my curse, my destiny . . ."

"So . . . Sayeth . . . is what you first said,_ true_," Sindel asked as he gathered the last few spilt items on the ground and placed them back into his pack.

"Are you _mage born_; do you truly have the _curse_ running through your blood?"

"I believe so," Sayeth replied.

"And you feel the test is to be upon you soon," Sindel asked?

"I am certain, I can feel it," answered Sayeth.

"This bodes ill then, for everyone I'm afraid," Sindel said with a resigned look upon his pale face.

"I am no mage teacher. I have no formal training myself you know. And this road I am on is no circle study room or practice hall. And on top of that, we barely know each other girl."

"I know . . . I know," Sayeth whispered, a look of finality and dread written upon her thin face. Sayeth turned away from Sindel and began walking off, back towards the tree she had first spring up from.

"_Hold_," Sindel ordered.

"Come on then, stay a while longer, here in the camp, and we will discuss this some more."

"I know my companions will probably have my head, but I cannot turn against you in your time of true need. I cannot let you face such things by yourself, it is not right. Trust me, _I know_. I have stood on the trail you now walk, alone and unsure. It is a path I would wish for no one."

Sayeth stopped, a thin hint of a smile crossing her face as she turned back around.

"Now, I want you to do exactly as I say over these next few days. I have much to show you and for you to practice on, but, in the meantime, I find myself in a critical position. I have my companions to deal with still and a possible quest in hand as well," Sindel said.

"We cannot cost my friends just because we are both to be walking curses in this damned world."

Sayeth nodded in quiet agreement and followed Sindel into the small camp.

Sindel spent most of the next hour going over several detailed points with Sayeth. Topics included dealing with dwarves, Ozwulf in particular, dealing with the others, as well as listening to his instruction on the topics of magic over the next few days to come.

Sayeth took it all in and just continued to quietly nod in agreement with each new instruction that Sindel offered. The girl seemed genuinely relieved at the offer of aid from the elf and was not about to ruin this chance.

Once Sindel had reviewed the ground rules and topics to avoid when being introduced to the group, Sindel asked Sayeth to gather some wood for the trail while they waited for the remainder of the group to return. Sayeth did so without hesitation and left Sindel for the moment, alone in the camp with his thoughts. _Dreeza_, the Dhalish woman thing from _the Fade_, continued to run through Sindel's mind as he pondered her appearance and her words from their earlier encounter.

"That was no mere coincidence," Sindel thought to himself. "What was she after? What was she, demon, ghost, spirit of the wandering dead, more, less, something new?"

Another hour passed and finally the remainder of the group returned and returned in a grand fashion. Sindel's eyes grew wide with excitement upon their entrance and many hundreds of new questions lit up within his mind as off in the distance he saw all three companions, Dellya, Ozwulf, and Acanthus, all _riding_ towards camp on _horses_!

Not only that, but the trio had several more horses in tow.

Sayeth had started a small fire and sat in the back ground of the camp, quietly awaiting the group's entrance. Sindel could not wait any longer. The elf stood and rushed forward to meet the procession. Sayeth remained motionless in the background, her back against a large tree near the fire.

"_By the Great and very treacherous Wolf_ . . . how," Sindel gasped in excitement at the sight of the procession of large powerful horses, being ridden by his companions?

"Tough negotiatin' an' simple dwarven expertise on matters such as dealin' with women an' the like," Ozwulf teased with a wide smile across his dwarven bearded cheeks.

Dellya and Acanthus smirked at the dwarf's boast, shaking their heads at one another.

"Then we have a job," Sindel inquired?

"Aye, we be havin' a job," Ozwulf answered.

"An' it be a payin' job to boot!"

"Congratulations elf, ye find yerself under the employ o' the Chantry o' Ferelden, an' beholdin' to one o' its finest priestesses, Sister Plyasenth o' Loggerswald!"

"May her coin be ever plentiful an' spendin' as freely as any others in this 'ere part of the world."

Sindel bristled a bit at the dwarfs phrasing, but continued to pat the large fine animal that Ozwulf was riding along its muscled chestnut neck. Ozwulf looked beyond the beaming Sindel and into the camp a dozen paces ahead of the elf.

Sayeth had not moved, not breathed, not ushered forth even the slightest noise or greeting's . . . just as Sindel had instructed her. Her heart raced within her chest as she waited for the next few moments to unfold.

"What be _this _then," Ozwulf said, still staring hard into the camp.

Dellya and Acanthus now noted Ozwulf's stare and followed it into camp, catching their first glance at the sitting, motionless, pale girl near the campfire. Acanthus' eyes narrowed a bit and he looked down at Sindel with a questioning look about his face.

"This . . . is a _minor_ problem," Sindel began.

"Is that _Sayeth_, the _witch girl_ . . . in _our_ camp," Dellya exclaimed?

"Oh . . . so you know each other . . . _excellent_," Sindel said dryly, "best friends I venture?"

"With _that_," Dellya bellowed sarcastically?

"Not in a thousand lifetimes," Dellya exclaimed, "She's a wretch . . . a liar, a thief, and probably worse. I have heard tales around the logger's camps of her and her ways; let's just leave it at that, shall we?"

"_Of course_, I could have seen that one coming," Sindel sighed as he rolled his eyes away from Dellya's incredulous stare.

"You _hate_ her," Sindel murmured.

Sindel sensed this was already sliding away from him and far from the recited conversation he had practiced several times over the last hour in his mind.

Ozwulf had not stopped staring at the girl. It made Sindel almost feel as if a screaming mad, cursing dwarf would have been a lot more predictable and negotiable than the quiet plotting one in front of him now.

"So . . . I be askin' again," Ozwulf said in a low tone, directly at Sindel, "what be _this_?"

"You have your stow away apprentice and now I have mine," Sindel mocked in jest with a shrug of his shoulders?

"_Stow away_," the high pitched voice of Dellya screeched out at Sindel?

"I am no stow away Sindel elf! I am an adventurer, make no bones about that! I am no trashy boot stealer, no homeless dirt weed upon the land seeking to stick to whatever it blows into. I will _not_ . . ."

"_Enough_ lass," Ozwulf interrupted.

"Be not so quick to be judgin' lass, we all be not comin' to this road so well bathed an' well learned as ye. Some o' us 'ave started with less than that one an' come from dirt an' mud an' weed, an' still be 'ere to tell tales about such times. Be ye rememberin' that bit o' fact fer ye finish ye thoughts, eh?"

Dellya quieted immediately from the point and Sindel leaked out a slight grin at the dwarf's reprimand in Sayeth's defense. When Ozwulf had first met Sindel, the elf was not only homeless and without food or coin, but in much rougher shape than Sayeth was at this very moment. Life on the road, without friend or coin, without station or purpose, can be a hard mistress and both Ozwulf and Sindel knew this fact well.

"Do ye be trustin' her elf," Ozwulf asked Sindel in a low growl?

"Uhm, _no_, not even a little," Sindel answered in a whisper.

"Good, that be makin' me choices a whole lot simpler if she is to be travelin' with us," Ozwulf said.

"How long ye be thinkin' she be with us?"

"A few days, a week perhaps at most," Sindel replied.

"The girl has certain . . . _abilities_ . . . coming to bloom very soon. She needs my council, away from Loggerswald at present, away from the Chantry as well if you catch my drift, or I am afraid she will find herself dead, or . . . _worse_."

Ozwulf finally broke from his stare at Sayeth and now turned his full attention down towards Sindel. His eyes were staring hard into the elf, questioning much of what he had just heard.

"An' _ye_ can do this," Ozwulf questioned Sindel, a look of stark shock upon the dwarf's muddy brown bearded face?

Ozwulf had never known Sindel to show experience or aptitude in working with the untrained in the art of magedom.

"I . . . I . . . honestly don't know," Sindel whispered.

"But I have to try."

"If she be puttin' us in any danger or be playin' at any games with us, I will be _endin'_ her pale skinny bones on the spot," Ozwulf hissed at Sindel as he leaned down from the saddle, angling towards Sindel's long elvish ears as to make sure the elf heard him clearly.

"Uhm," Sindel choked softly back to Ozwulf, accompanying his croak with a slight nod and twist of the shoulders.

"I am not sure how to respond to that."

Ozwulf eyed Sindel and then the others, offering no additional thoughts on the matter. He then spurred his horse forward and cursed out something in the dwarven tongue.

"Alright then, let's be goin', be introducin' us elf," Ozwulf said as he rode forward into the small camp, "we be havin' much to do an' much to be discussin' fore we can be gettin' to it."


	11. Chapter 11 - Blood and Steel

**Chapter 11 – Blood and Steel**

The next few hours in camp moved quickly as introductions were made between Sayeth and the others, although Sindel was quick to deflect questions about the girl's plight. Sindel was also very vague to the others on how he would be helping her out exactly. Some introductions went better than others, with only a cold nod coming from Dellya, which was returned in kind by Sayeth.

Once the pleasantries were complete, the adventuring company of Second Chances went about their business in final preparation for getting on with the mission in hand. Dellya went over several routes and game trails that offered them the best way to get to the area they sought. Even their newest addition, Sayeth, added to this discussion, as she had wandered near the mysterious _Darkmoor Plots_ once or twice in her time in this part of the deep woods. Sayeth also offered some advice on certain dark weeds that grew near there that could leave cuts on horses legs, as well as their riders, and that were to be avoided once in that area.

Ozwulf had taken a moment with Sindel and Dellya, off away from the others earlier in the afternoon. He went over at great length the details Sister Plyasenth had offered in their earlier discussion. The pair were more than a little excited about the mission they had been offered and in trying to find information regarding these stolen magical gems.

After this discussion was completed, Ozwulf and Sindel divulged some of the mission details with Sayeth, but kept much of the specifics very vague on purpose. They did not speak of the _Eyes of the Maker_ nor did they offer any of the particular details about their lore, the family history they were told about the Tu'Navall family or of any of the compensation details to the pale girl. Ozwulf and Sindel had agreed to treat her as a welcome tag along amongst the group, nothing more, nothing less. This seemed to sit ok with Sayeth, who fought back her natural curiosity for the time being, as Sindel had pleaded with her to do so earlier that day.

Finally, a couple of hours or so before sunset, all was as it should be and the company was set to leave. Sindel mounted his horse with a wide grin and set out upon the trail in the lead of the company. Each adventurer fell in behind, in a single strung out line, as their horses galloped along the forested game trail. Dellya believed they could find shelter along a winding river late in the afternoon, just before sunset and could look to make camp there. Then tomorrow, a hard ride to the north would have them close to the Darkmoor lands before sunset. It was certainly looking to be an easy trek.

Sunset came and went with the company finding the river bank as planned and making camp just thereafter. As the fire was set, Sindel sat down next to Sayeth to begin some instruction on her upcoming tribulations. Ozwulf was deep in conversation with Dellya about the local landmarks and plant life around this area. And the large Avarri warrior, Acanthus, was busy edging his weapons before making rounds about the perimeter of the camp. Watches were to be set this night as Ozwulf thought it best to practice defense as the company moved into unknown territory. It would also give the newer members of the company a chance to learn some of the ways of the adventurer's road, as Ozwulf had promised Dellya time and time again.

"Have you a _charm_, or an _implement_," Sindel asked Sayeth as they sat close to the fire to ward off the cooling air from the nearby riverbank.

Sayeth offered nothing but a silent stare in answer to the elf's question. She blinked, showing no sign of understanding of what Sindel had just asked her.

"You know, like a staff, or a gemstone, or a _wand_," Sindel continued, "like mine."

Sindel reached into the folds of his padded tunic and pulled forth his wand. It was a thin, dark stained wooden object about the length of Acanthus' forearm, but as thin as the elf's pinky finger. It tapered towards one end and Dhalish etched symbols could be seen along its thicker base end.

Sayeth's eyes were wide with excitement as Sindel revealed the thin, fragile looking item to her.

"Nay, nothing of the sort," Sayeth answered, "how does it work? Can I use it . . . or touch it . . . or try it? How can I make one of my own or does one just look and find one of them? Can you find one even? Where would you even look for one?"

Sindel chuckled at the girls' many questions as they rattled off to him. Sayeth did not seem to mind the amused Sindel as she continued to stare, slack jawed, at the thin piece of tapered wood in the elf's hand.

"It is a focus of sorts you see," Sindel said, "a crafted and attuned piece of arcanery that reacts to your will and bends your arcane energies. At least it works that way if you are a mage. It eases the magics from your spirit and focuses it for use in the spells you work to cast."

"How . . . _amazing_," Sayeth breathed out as she caressed the wand with her fingers.

"Think of it as ones water skin, if he or she were thirsty for some water," Sindel explained.

"If the river over there was all the source of magic around us to tap into, or all the magic within you so to speak, and you wanted to drink a sip of it to quench your thirst, we would first need a tool to do so."

"Like a cup or the water skin then, as you mentioned," Sayeth asked?

"Yes, exactly, something to tap into it and funnel it to you with a bit more _finesse _if you will. You of course could go and bob your head underneath the rushing river and drink from it as a whole, but it might drown you if you do so or at least leave you soaked and choking for air. At the bare minimum, it would not be the _best _way to get a single drink, right?"

"A focus can help a mage dip into his or her raw spirit essence. It can help parcel it in small and potent refined pieces instead of just sticking your head underneath a river of magic and getting drowned or choked by it."

"I think I see your point," Sayeth replied, still eyeing the wand with an intense stare.

"But why . . . _a wand_? I have seen traveling Mages of the Circle carry long staves with ornate workings and the like. Why not a great polished staff, adorned with feathers and other finery? It would seem much more powerful and intimidating, at least to me."

"You just answered your own question silly girl," Sindel mocked.

Sayeth looked puzzled.

"Intimidating, boastful, loud and brash," Sindel continued, "a staff is a _statement_, carried by those wishing to make one."

"A _Circle Mage_, adorned in station and ceremony, carries a staff to announce his presence and show off his station. An _Apostate_ prefers to seek a different reaction when traveling about the lands of Ferelden."

"A concealed wand allows a mage like me to keep my magical origins quite concealed as I travel about the lands, which in return, allows me to keep my head resting upon my chiseled heroic looking shoulders," Sindel said with a wink.

"Make sense now," Sindel asked?

The girl nodded, understanding the need for concealment and discretion over an offering of public power and intimidation.

"So we will need to set to crafting you one of these baubles or trying to find you one of your own through other means if luck would have it," Sindel said.

"And you know how to do such a thing," Sayeth asked?

"Craft one I mean?"

"Uhm . . . _no_, not exactly," Sindel replied with a shrug, "but there is a first time for everything I always say."

"So, can I practice with yours then, until I have my own that is," Sayeth asked?

"Well, in theory, _yes_, a mage can use another mage's implement, although it should always be done with great care and concern. Implements are all unique and can focus and conduct arcane energies with different application and temperament," Sindel answered.

"_But_, my wand is off limits to you, at least for now . . . understood," Sindel asked, his eyes narrowing into a stare at the pale girl?

Sayeth nodded her head a time or two but was clearly disheartened by Sindel's command. She looked as if she had just been offered her heart's desire one minute, only to have it taken away the next.

"Now then, another question, have you ever been . . . uhm, over _there_," Sindel asked tentatively, gesturing across the camp to the other side of the camp fire?

Sayeth caught his meaning immediately, her face moving from sullen dejection to more of a state of surprise and anxiety.

"To _the Fade _you mean," Sayeth whispered?

"Yes, to _the Fade_," Sindel answered.

"Sometimes, those that are new to magic within them come to _the Fade_ in dreams or in nightmares, as their spirit power grows in tune with their bodies."

"Do you ever remember vivid pieces of dreams, of places that looked close to where you fell asleep, but then seemed twisted or distorted somehow as you looked upon them in your dream?"

"Blurred perhaps, hazy even? It would appear as light and darkness were present at the same time, twisted in shadowy wrestling forms, often covered in a sap like color, almost like honey," Sindel asked?

"Yes, I have been there . . . a few times, more often of late," Sayeth answered.

"And in recent days, I have even found myself there while I was awake, although it only happened once and it was just for a short time I think."

Sindel's eyes grew wide, revealing his concern. It appeared that Sayeth might be farther along in her spiritual transformations than he had first guessed.

"_Good_," Sindel offered, not wishing to alarm Sayeth any more than she already was.

"The more you find yourself on the other side of _the Veil_ and in realization that you are there, the more your mind and spirit can be honed for defense against that place. _The Fade_ can be very disorientating to the newly awakened. And even to the most experienced mage, _the Fade_ is a place filled with terror and the things of nightmares."

"You make it sound as if the very place was set to attack and eat me Sindel elf," Sayeth said.

"Yes, I did," Sindel whispered back.

Sindel went about pulling forth a small wrapped torch from his pack near where he was sitting. He lit the torch and propped it upon a rock near the camp fire. Sindel then whistled softly towards Ozwulf who was still in deep conversation with Dellya regarding a local root with medicinal herbal properties. Ozwulf heard the soft whistle and glanced over at Sindel and the lit torch.

Ozwulf nodded to the elf in acknowledgment.

"What's going on," Dellya asked Ozwulf, their conversation interrupted, although she was not sure why?

"Just a bit o' elvish magic an' wisdom Sindel be teachin' to the new pale lass," Ozwulf answered. "A bit o' dream walkin' as the elf be puttin' it."

Seeing the nod from Ozwulf, Sindel grabbed Sayeth by the forearm gently; his wand still loosely gripped within his other hand. Sindel closed his eyes and pushed his arcane energies out about him in a deep focused rush.

Sayeth felt the wash of arcane energies sweep over and around her almost instantly, as they extended from Sindel through his hand, up her arm, and all around her!

Then there was a dropping feeling, as if falling quickly from a short tree branch down to ground, but then stopping short of hitting the ground below. It was dizzying and made the girl light headed for a moment.

Sayeth opened her eyes and knew immediately that she was in _the Fade_. The camp site was much the same, although Sayeth did not see Acanthus, Ozwulf, or Dellya anymore, at least not clearly. The light of the camp fire twisted and distorted the surroundings; offering more shadows than flaming light and it danced in hues of pale yellows and faded orange reds. The darkness around the perimeter of the camp had become lighter and now appeared as a perpetual twilight in its ambient glow. Details beyond the camp were just a muddled twisting hue of dark honey color, mixed with ambiguous shadows and shapes.

A fluttering group of moving dark colored shadows the size of large plumbs caught Sayeth's eyes as they entered the camp, just a few paces from the girl. The half dozen moving spots of darkness and color moved closer to Sayeth and her eyes went wide with surprise.

One of the shadow color spots stopped moving for a moment and its blur became a clearer picture of its form. The creature was a butterfly outline, framed in dark inky shadow, a dull colored silhouette of sorts. Its eyes were a purple deep blue that matched its markings on its shadowy black blue wings. It paused for but a moment before rejoining its band and the small host of fluttering spots of shadow moved off into the deeper blur beyond the camp. Sayeth exhaled her breath and began looking about with excitement, looking for more of what she had just witnessed.

"It is _beautiful_ . . ." Sayeth whispered, excitement washing over her small face.

"So you say," Sindel replied.

The elf was still gripping her arm gently and sitting right next to her, perched comfortably upon the stone as if he were still in the group's camp.

Sindel stared about in all directions to ensure he and Sayeth remained alone, at least for the time being. He then breathed in the magical energies of _the Fade_ and then flushed them out in measured control in all directions. Sindel was well practiced in this spell and he pushed his magical senses all around them in this area of _the Fade_ in order to sense any possible dangers near them. After a few moments, Sindel was quite sure the area was safe, at least for now, and he relaxed a bit and released Sayeth from his gentle grasp.

"Simply _amazing_," Sayeth said, "can you come and go as you will? Why wouldn't you just stay here all the time? And with you, I seem awake here, not drowsy or half-drunk with sleep."

"It is so much more beautiful than our world!"

Sindel's eyebrows arched up at that last bit from Sayeth. He had never thought _the Fade_ to be overly beautiful, as it always came across to him as a dreary dark place. _The Fade_ was a muted cousin of the elf's own realms, often murky and out of focus to the naked eye. And Sindel had seen plenty in this place that was the stuff of true nightmares. _Beauty_ was not a word the elf usually associated with this dark place.

"It is difficult to master, the comings and goings that is," Sindel replied to the excited girl.

"Practice, patience, focus, and willpower make it all possible. Even one that is experienced can have trouble if their energies are low, both in the comings and goings. That is why sometimes you can drift into and out of the Fade when you dream sleep. It is all about your energies and your state of will," Sindel said to Sayeth as she continued to listen intently.

"A mage run away named Ember, from Red Cliff, told me that you needed _Lyrium juice_ to do such things," Sayeth added.

"_Lyrium juice_," Sindel chuckled, "juice like from a berry?"

Sindel laughed at the thought for a moment before collecting himself.

"Well, _Lyrium_ is an entirely different chapter of study my girl and one I am fond of, might I add."

"And good Ember of Red Cliff is correct; _Lyrium_ is widely used for the untrained and inexperienced to power the mages spirit enough to cross into this place. And it is still used by the experienced mage to offer longer and deeper travels about _the Fade_, but for our purposes here today, it is not needed."

"Will power and calm here can be your greatest ally's and your wits your strongest weapon," Sindel said in a serious tone.

"Might is nothing here when you are but a speck of dust to those who hold true power in this place. Never forget that or lose sight of that fact Sayeth."

"Of course," Sayeth promised as she continued to look about in awe.

And just as quickly as they had arrived, Sayeth and Sindel returned to the camp, Ozwulf and Dellya watching on as they blinked awake. Their bodies were on the ground, not so far away from where they had been sitting on the other side. They were both lying there, as if they had taken a nap and just woken up from a deep still slumber.

Sayeth stood up quickly and glanced about her surroundings, feeling a slight disorientation rush over her.

"_Relax_," Sindel offered to her calmly. "It will pass."

Sayeth nodded and stared about for a moment in a hushed silence as she tried to remain upright. The girl's legs felt wobbly beneath her. She quickly sat back down again near Sindel. Even Dellya seemed impressed with the level of magic and the quick trip from this realm to the other that Sindel had just demonstrated.

"_Maker's breath_," Dellya whispered, "did they just travel to the . . . the uhm . . . that other place?"

"_Indeed_," Sindel replied before Ozwulf could answer, still sitting comfortably near the fire as he watched over the woozy Sayeth.

"And you can do that whenever you want Sindel," Dellya asked with some hint of trepidation and fascination both coming forward at the same time.

"Well . . . not _whenever_ I want, it is a challenge, that much is for sure," Sindel explained.

"One has to find it to be a choice time and situation. There are rules and precautions to explore, levels of control to maintain and such."

"What happened to our bodies, were we here or there, how did that work," Sayeth blurted out staring over at Ozwulf and Dellya?

"Here," Ozwulf answered, "an' there as well, or so the elf always be tellin' me."

"That's not exactly correct," Sindel interrupted, "our spirits are there while our bodies are here."

"_Amazing_," Sayeth replied in quiet awe.

"Amazin' she be callin' it," Ozwulf chuckled sarcastically.

"There be times when the two o' us be in dangerous places an' needed every bit o' caution between us to be stayin' 'live til the mornin'. An' there I be tryin' to whisper awake that blasted elf fer his watch or to be gettin' up quick as I may be hearin' somethin' out in the dark o' night! But nay, he be there but not really _there_, if ye know what I be meanin'."

"Amazin'? Nay, annoyin', dangerous, those be the words that be springin' to me mind, an' downright unpredictable if ye be askin' me!"

Dellya shot a look over at Sindel with a raised eyebrow. The elf's face showed that Ozwulf's accusation truly had happened in the past, perhaps more than once even.

"You cannot control it then," Dellya asked Sindel?

"Of course I can," Sindel replied as his face tilted into a strange quizzical look. "But, like I said, there are good times and not so good times when it occurs."

"That seems confusing," Dellya said.

"Ye think," Ozwulf snickered?

"There are levels of control involved, as I said. Sleeping happens to be one of those times where there are less levels of control. But, it does not happen with great frequency, I can assure you."

Ozwulf rolled his large dwarven eyes fully up into his head while Dellya was still staring at Sindel with a look of shock.

"Magic is never completely controllable or predictable," Sindel offered to Dellya. "The quicker you come to terms with that, the quicker you can begin to limit your exposure to such random and dangerous events."

"Random dangerous events? You mean _Demons_, right," Sayeth asked?

"No, I mean dangerous events, as I said the first time" Sindel corrected.

"Demons are ever present in _the Fade_ and _the Fade_ is always a part of magic. But, there are many dangers associated with the magical arts. One could find themselves playing with raw _Lyrium_ while crafting a new rune stone and blow themselves into pieces while handling it. One could attempt to use magic to heal a bleeding wound, only to lose focus and make the wound larger and bleed that mage and his patient to their own deaths."

"Demon's and _the Fade_ get their own special chapter of danger in the lore of using magic I'm afraid, but they are not the only danger in regards to magic."

"Well, if it's all the same to me, just give me a bow and a sharp blade," Dellya said.

"That be me girl," Ozwulf beamed.

"Understandable Dellya," Sindel retorted stoically, "but remember, Sayeth and I were not given a choice between a bow or a dagger and our magics."

"We were born this way and have little say in that matter. The danger is a part of our life, not a choice we made when born to this world. There have been many nights in my life I have often thought much the same as you . . . _give me that dagger _any day."

"Not I," Sayeth said defiantly, a dreamy look washing over her face as she said it.

"I feel everything is as it should be, like _destiny_."

It was Dellya's turn to roll her eyes.

Dellya then leaned back and returned to her handful of gathered shrubs she had been showing Ozwulf earlier, seemingly done with this conversation. Ozwulf took note and left the conversation where it had ended, returning as well to his discussion with Dellya.

Sindel took his cue and let Sayeth know that she had seen enough for one night and that it was time to turn in before their watch later in the night. Sayeth resisted the command at first, but then drifted off to rest shortly after. Sindel did the same, letting the thoughts of magic and _the Fade_ be pushed back to the far corners of his thoughts for now.

The next morning saw the companions set to an early and quick breaking of camp. Their ride before high noon was spent at a rapid pace as all seemed eager to push further away from Loggerswald and closer to their destination deeper in the northern woods. Much of the morning pace was set by Acanthus, who had remained quiet and tense all morning as the group continued towards the unknown.

It was just after high noon when Acanthus slowed his gallop from his lead position and signaled for the group to slow to a halt. Ozwulf was a close second and at first, believed the Avarri was slowing their pace to water the horses and take a break from the many hours of riding they had amassed so far along the forest trail. The thought vanished quickly as Ozwulf glanced ahead to where Acanthus was looking.

About fifty paces ahead, along the trail that wound through a meadow and a group of large trees ahead, both companions could see something blocking the grassy path. It was a large brown, chestnut mare. It was saddled and did not seem injured, but was also unattended to. The others began slowing their horses as well as they approached behind Ozwulf and Acanthus.

"Should we be concerned," Sindel asked quietly as he spotted the lone mare on the trail ahead.

"_Yes_," Acanthus answered, keeping to a low tone.

The Avarri's eyes were scanning the perimeter around the lone meandering horse, looking for any clue to the whereabouts of its rider.

"There," Ozwulf whispered, nodding to an area past the horse and to the east about a hundred paces or more into the thicker woods.

Sindel and Acanthus both strained their vision into the shadowy dense area of brush to the east of the trail. Movement could be seen, but just barely.

"What is it," Acanthus asked?

"A man, crawling I think," Sindel offered.

"Aye, an' he be wounded me be thinkin'," Ozwulf whispered. "He be movin' as if it be a mighty struggle fer him to be movin' at all."

"Yes, I see that as well now," Sindel added as the figure crawled another pace, pulling itself with a single outstretched arm, causing the brush to move like a snake were winding its way through it.

Dellya and Sayeth had pulled up behind Sindel and dismounted. Sensing the others anxiety, Dellya unslung her bow from her back to a readied position. She strained her eyes to see what the others were looking at in the shadowy ground cover of the east in the forest bed.

"What do you think Oz," Sindel asked in a whisper?

"Lot's to not be likin' 'bout this, that be fer damn sure," the dwarf said, still watching the crawling figure along the grassy thick floor off to his left.

"Dellya, stay set 'ere, 'tween the horses, an' be 'coverin' us with ye bow lass," Ozwulf commanded, motioning to a position in the center of the cluster of horses.

"Sayeth, stay down an' be stayin' near Dellya. Don't be leavin' one 'nother, no matter what be happenin'."

Sayeth shook her head in agreement, her pale face turning an even paler chalky color as it drained of blood. Dellya walked back a few paces to calm her horse as it shuffled restlessly near the other horses.

"I be needin' a volunteer to be seein' if the man be in need o' aid," Ozwulf asked of Sindel and Acanthus.

As he said it, the dwarf pulled his large crossbow off his back and began readying it with a steel tipped wooden bolt. The dwarf began cranking the tensioning mechanism several turns to set the bolt in place.

"I will go," Acanthus answered.

The Avarri pulled his huge thick steel bastard sword from its scabbard as quietly as it would allow. The warrior then began to move cautiously to the group's left, entering the thicker wooded area and making a slow straight line towards the figure that was crawling in the woods ahead. Dellya handed the reins of her horse and Sayeth's to the pale girl next to her. Sayeth took them and continued to look nervously about in all directions, her hands shaking visibly.

Dellya stood to her tip toes, but could not see over the large horse Sayeth had been riding. She then moved to the front of the small pack of horses and watched as Acanthus crept forward. Again the motion could be seen by all as the crawling figure pulled itself along with a single arm in the distance along the forest floor.

"And me," Sindel asked in a whisper?

"Ye be sensin' anythin' elf," the dwarf asked?

"One second," Sindel answered Ozwulf.

With that, Sindel concentrated and ushered forth a bit of his arcane energies, extending and pushing his senses out all around him. After a couple of long seconds, he re-opened his eyes.

"_Nothing_," Sindel whispered back to the dwarf.

"Good, then come on, ye an' I will be seein' to that there horse ahead," Ozwulf said. "I be wantin' to see what fight this man fell into. It be puttin' me thoughts at ease a bit once I be seein' what I hope I be seein' in the dirt that beastie."

As Ozwulf finished cranking his heavy crossbow, he began to move forward on the trail towards the meandering horse ahead. Ozwulf moved very slowly, each step a calculated soft landing, his eyes darting about in constant assessment of the area around and in front of him. Sindel followed, easing his thin wooden wand out from his tunic as he advanced.

Acanthus had covered half the distance to the figure in the woods already as he glanced over at the slowly advancing Ozwulf and Sindel. The warrior paused only a moment before returning his focus forward and continuing his own crouching advance towards the crawling figure in the grass ahead. He could see that the figure crawling ahead seemed to be struggling mightily at moving just a few feet at a time along the grassy ground. It looked as if the figure was trying to pull its entire body weight with just the use of a clawing, struggling, grasping single left arm.

A raspy grunt followed each pulling motion, with a deep exhale of labored breathing from the crawling figure. Acanthus could feel a small line of warm sweat forming along his brow and he gripped his large blade tighter as he continued his movement forward. Dellya's horse bayed again as it shifted off in the distance. Acanthus could hear Dellya sooth the animal with some calming whispers of assurance.

Acanthus advanced another few cautious strides, his breathing shallow and anxious. He looked about right and left again as his heart picked up pace within his chest.

Something did not seem right about this scene and he strained to find what was amiss here. He stared back to the struggling figure once again, which was now only ten or fifteen paces away from him. The barbarian's eyes scanned along the outline of the figure and the flat grassy trail the figure made as it moved along the ground. Some of the tall grass was beginning to perk back up a dozen paces or so behind the crawling figure and Acanthus stared at it for a long still moment.

"No blood in the standing grass," Acanthus thought to himself.

"Beware . . . _ambush_," Acanthus screamed out!

A blur of motion exploded around the forest even as Acanthus' finished his warning shout. The horses near Dellya began to rustle and bump around Sayeth and her both. The lone chestnut mare near Ozwulf and Sindel raised its head, its ears shooting straight up at the commotion in the woods to the east. Ozwulf dropped to a knee and fluidly rolled to the ground and braced his crossbow for a shot. The forest had been so quiet the moment before and now looked like a panorama of motion and noise as Acanthus' warning shout seemed to trigger a flurry of activity.

The crawling figure, just paces in front of the Avarri warrior, stopped suddenly as Acanthus screamed out his warning. The mysterious struggling figure pushed off the ground and rolled to one shoulder, propped up and facing the barbarian.

The figure lying in front of Acanthus looked to be a Ferelden man with a tanned complexion and a well muscled middle age frame. Acanthus could see the man's thick black moustache set squarely over his thin lipped mouth and a pair of dark darting eyes staring forward at him. The crawling man raised something up with his tucked away right hand and Acanthus heard a slight clicking noise come from it.

_Click, snap!_

Something rushed forth from the man's hand, following the clicking noise, and whizzed towards the staring Acanthus.

Pain shot through Acanthus' chest and left arm.

It felt like a sharp icicle had just been stabbed into the barbarian's upper chest, near his left shoulder, just beneath his chainmail shoulder fittings. The feeling was both cold and hot at the same time and each beat of the Avarri's racing heart brought a new lance of shooting pain with it. Acanthus stared down at the man, who was pointing a small hand sized crossbow of some sort in his outstretched right hand.

The man grinned at Acanthus beneath his heavy black moustache. Blood began seeping out from Acanthus' chest where the metal tipped bolt had found a home between a piece of hardened leather and the chain links resting over his large shoulders.

The man rolled back another full pace and half tumbled into a crouch, his dark green foresters cloak crumpling behind him as he rolled back. Acanthus could see the man's free hand working at freeing a hunter's long blade from its sheath that was tethered around the man's upper thigh.

"That had to hurt big fella," the cloaked man said in a low growl. "You can scream or cry if ye like, I won't tell."

Blood dripped along Acanthus' leather chest plate and began to splatter in soft droplets on the ground near the big warriors left leg.

"Or ye could just drop to the ground and bleed out like the stuck animal ye are," the man chided.

Further north, near the chestnut mare, Sindel began whispering forth several words of arcanery to himself, his wand working in unison with his mind and will. Something whizzed past the elf's leg as he tried hard to maintain his concentration. It sounded to Sindel like a slight tearing of the air and made a _wisp_ sound as it got nearer.

The ground thudded with a light impact just a few inches behind Sindel's right foot and the elf broke his concentration to glance down at what had struck the ground. He could see a long shafted arrow buried halfway in the ground just missing his knee. The wooden arrow shaft stuck out from the ground near Sindel's leg, its long black crow feather fletching resting just inches away from the elf's knee. Another zipping sound flew through the air and Sindel glanced back up towards the source ahead.

Sindel spotted the pair of dark cloaked, hooded figures, propped up in the shadowy thick branches just past the mare in a tree above. Both men wore dark black cloth hoods that covered their faces, with eye holes cut in to allow them sight. Each had a curved long bow in hand and both were frantically putting another arrow to their bow strings to take another shot at Sindel and the others.

Sindel felt a hard kick to the back of his right leg at the knee and it caused the elf to buckle from his rigid stance and fall back hard onto the earthen grassy ground behind him. Sindel looked up from his prone position into the pieces of blue sky beyond through the canopy of shadowy tree limbs all about. A shooting thin shaft sped past the prone Sindel and thudded into the ground just behind his prone form. Sindel glanced to his right to see Ozwulf there next to him, the dwarf's leg outstretched near the elf.

"Yer welcome elf," Ozwulf grumbled, already turning back around and re-setting his large crossbow out in front of him while staying prone on the ground next to Sindel.

A _twang_ reverberated out from behind Ozwulf and Sindel and an arrow propelled up towards the pair of men that were shooting down from the thick lower tree limb ahead. The arrow blazed upwards from Dellya's bow and struck hard in the trunk of the large tree, just left of one of the men's chest.

"_Dragon's balls_," Dellya cursed beneath her breath from behind Ozwulf and Sindel. Her arm was already in motion knocking another long arrow to her bow string to set her next shot.

Ozwulf's heavy crossbow was the next to add its sound to the symphony of battle amidst the quiet forest. The heavy _click_ _chunk_ from Ozwulf's trigger mixed with the immediate snap of the crossbow tension mechanism and a heavy bolt from the crossbow whizzed through the air. The bolt lanced into the groin of one of the hooded men shooting from the tree. The man screamed shrilly as he fell from the tree limb, crashing down hard on his back some twenty feet to the ground below.

Another _twang_ was heard near the mare and another arrow raced past Sindel and Ozwulf towards the lone man remaining in the tree ahead. Dellya's second arrow struck true and hit the man in his stomach, causing him to drop the bow from his grasp. The man leaned hard into the tree trunk to his right and hugged it to prevent from falling. Blood leaked from the arrow still stuck in his mid section.

Ozwulf grabbed another heavy bolt from his hip pack and began placing it into his crossbow. Sindel rolled to one side and repositioned himself so that he was once again facing the mare. The lone horse was no longer there and was galloping off into the woods to the Sindel's left.

Rushing forward from around the base of the large tree near where the mare had stood was a small band of cloaked men wearing black hoods and black cloth face masks. Sindel saw them all rush forward at once, long gleaming steel swords in hand as they advanced towards him. The men were no more than twenty paces away and charging hard towards the companions. Sindel counted and believed there were at least six of the lightly armored men rushing towards them, but it was hard for the elf to tell as everything was happening in a blur.

"_Felton_, you and _Derious _with me," the lead brigand commanded as he advanced towards Ozwulf and Sindel. "_Zeb_, you take care of the girls and horses. _Notch_, you and _Hrond_ help _Maxxel_ with the big brute in the woods."

"This promises to be a nice haul and will send a message at the same time. They can hire whoever they please from wherever they want, but Loggerswald is ours, eh lads! _Cloud_ should be pleased," the lead man said as he rushed forward, sword in hand.

"Time to break some bones an' make some coin," the one called Derious answered from beneath his black hooded mask. Another man to his right snickered as they moved towards the prone Ozwulf and Sindel.

Acanthus saw the man fall from the tree limb off in the distance and then quickly looked back at the man on the ground. The Avarri heard some barked orders from more men near where the first bandit had fallen. He knew the situation was moving from dangerous to potentially fatal in a hurry. The man on the ground in front of him freed his long hunter's blade free and crouched in readiness in front of the warrior.

"Come on then big man, make ye move," the man called Maxxel taunted at Acanthus. "Or did my crossbow already take the fight out of ye?"

Acanthus shifted his heavy blade to his left hand and felt the wounded shoulder creak with deep pain. So much, the shoulder threatened to drop the heavy steel weapon from his grasp. Acanthus pushed the pain away and gripped his sword even tighter. He reached with his free right hand to his belt for his hatchet.

With one fluid and powerful motion, he pulled the hand axe from his belt, arched the weapon back behind his waist, and then hurled it forward in a powerful throw. The hatchet tumbled end over end at a blurring speed towards the crouched brigand until it reached its target.

Acanthus had made that throw a thousand times or more in his past and the accuracy matched the power as they both culminated into a fatal strike into the man crouching a dozen paces ahead. The sound of the spinning hatchet hitting the man's forehead as it split open his skull rang throughout the nearby woods.

_Sprack!_

The sound reminded Acanthus of a smooth fist sized lake rock being hit hard by a tree branch. He and his brother Ragnum had done this as boys in their youth many times and the strike was eerily similar to that old sound.

The Avarri did not stop there as he turned back towards his companions and the advancing group of brigands. Acanthus shifted his heavy sword back into his sturdier right hand and began to move towards the new host of assailants. Two of the men from the larger group altered their path and began to move towards Acanthus to meet him with a rush.

"I think the big fella jus' killed _Maxi_," the man called Notch said out loud to the other man rushing forward beside him.

"Good," the man called Hrond said, "less ways to split the loot. Now, let's finish off this wounded bear eh!"

Another man that the lead man called Zeb, sprinted off to the left of the group, breaking from the advancing pack. Ozwulf saw the man sprint off and knew he was circling around to a flank to get behind the dwarf and elf, to have at the girls behind the dwarf.

Ozwulf's distraction caused his bolt to slip momentarily from his finger tips, into the soft grass next to the crossbow. The dwarf glanced down to the bolt and then back up to the advancing trio of armored men just a few paces from him.

"Elf, need some help an' quick," Ozwulf growled.

Sindel offered no response. He had already stood up next to Ozwulf and was busy with a new spell. He looked as if he was in deep quiet concentration and seemed to be whispering something to himself that sounded like gibberish to the dwarf. The three men took another long stride and were upon both companions, their gleaming steel long blades in hand.

The lead man had not taken his eyes off of the prone dwarf as he advanced within striking distance. The lead hooded brigand swung hard and low at the dwarf's face which was just a foot or so off of the ground.

Ozwulf sprung back in a half roll, half tuck, and the blade swooshed by his face, just missing by a stone, no more.

Ozwulf continued his motion, grabbing the crossbow in his right hand as he tumbled. He then pushed forward with his roll and sprang to the right of the advancing second man, the one the leader had called Derious. Ozwulf spun the crossbow so that its thick wooden stock now faced out, away from him. Ozwulf finished the single move as he sprung up into the man who was now within striking distance.

The heavy wooden stock of the large crossbow slammed underneath Derious' jaw with a powerful crash. Teeth impacted and jaw bones crunched together as the impact rattled throughout the face of the man! The brigand reeled backwards in a spinning collapse away from Ozwulf, spitting out blood and teeth as he fell to the ground.

The lead brigand paused a moment after missing his ground swipe towards the tumbling dwarf. The agile dwarf had sprung to the man's left and was already besting one of his men. To the lead brigand's right, his other hooded ally, the man called Felton, had stopped entirely for some strange reason and was a full pace or two behind him.

The lead brigand stopped and stared back at the elf near them. The man noticed the thin strip of tapered wood in the Dhalish elf's right hand and then glanced again at his motionless ally standing sword in hand behind him.

"_Mage_," the man yelled!

Zeb, the hooded man who had circled around Ozwulf and the group, stopped his advance towards Dellya and Sayeth. He stared back at the leader, eyes wide with surprise. The other two men that were advancing towards Acanthus also stopped at the warning and glanced back towards the shouting man.

Sindel smiled and arched his eyebrows at the man, but the lead brigand was already in motion in front of the elf and was too busy to take notice of Sindel's coy smirk.

"Something _wrong_ master brigand," Sindel taunted?

The brigand leader did not respond as he took a full step forward and raised his sturdy right leg in front of him, kicking Sindel hard in the gut.

The kick was so hard that it doubled the thin elf in half, almost tumbling him forward to the ground. It was all that Sindel could do to remain somewhat balanced and not fall completely prone from the assault. The brigand leader was already continuing his press and raised his steel blade high in the air to arc down and sever the elf's prone head from his neck. The man began to swing down to finish the fatal blow, but Ozwulf proved quicker.

The dwarf saw the heavy kick and watched as Sindel doubled over in pain. Ozwulf rushed from the man's left and tackled him around the thigh and waist in a rushing charge. Ozwulf's powerful squat legs churned forward trying to topple the man to gain some advantage. He knew he had left himself open and defenseless in his charge but was hopeful that if he toppled the brigand leader, he could nullify that advantage.

The hooded man was caught off guard and Ozwulf's charging tackle knocked him from his target and the fatal swing, but it did not drive the man from his feet.

Sidestepping with the momentum, the brigand leader stayed in motion while twisting to plant his legs to try and resist the powerful dwarf's rush. The brigand leader knew Ozwulf had the leverage with his stout, powerful legs driving with a charging force. But the man had strength to match his nimble feet and began to use both against the dwarf. The maneuver worked as Ozwulf's charging tackle slowed to a resisted sluggish push.

Pain exploded into Ozwulf as he felt a hard sharp blow crash into his skull from above. Ozwulf reeled a bit, his tight shoving grasp going limp as his arms tingled from the neck down.

Ozwulf's crossbow dropped softly onto the ground and he pulled back away from the brigand leader, half out of reaction and half from swirling dizziness. Images in front of the dwarf blurred and for the moment, Ozwulf could only see bright light and dim shadowy blurs, nothing with detail or color.

Sindel had seen what had happened but was powerless to stop the blow to his friend. As Ozwulf had tackled and drove the bandit leader away from the defenseless elf, the brigand had twisted to stop the forced rush. The man then followed the twist with a counter against the dwarf. The man grabbed his long sword with two hands; hilt raised high overhead, and drove the steel pommel squarely down into the dwarfs exposed head.

Blood spilled freely from Ozwulf's skull, sopping into the dwarf's thick earthen red brown hair. Ozwulf reeled backwards and looked confused and off balance. Somewhere behind Sindel, Dellya screamed in shrill concern at the blow.

Sindel began to roll through his spells for something that would help. He quickly was caught in no man's land as his mind froze a moment as he thought through his options.

The brigand leader in the black hood had no such hesitation, his only option, to finish the reeling dwarf in front of him. The man stepped forward into the staggering Ozwulf and punched the stout dwarf squarely in the nose with the hard steel pommel of his long sword. Ozwulf tried to raise his hands up to soften or stop the blow, but his arms were not responding to his mind's request. The thrusting sword punch to his face sent Ozwulf another full step backwards and the dwarf planted onto the ground on his back in a heaping thud!

Sindel began whispering words of magic, his heart racing, his mind whirring with what he saw unfolding at odds with the magic he desperately tried to release.

The bandit leader moved quickly once again.

The man continued from his lunging punch into Ozwulf and in the same long motion, he swept out a back handed extending arc with his long blade out towards the standing Sindel. The long sweeping swing was just long enough to connect as the tip of the razor sharp steel blade tore shirt and flesh from Sindel's chest.

Sindel reeled back a half step in glancing pain, too late to prevent the slice. Sindel lost the words in his mind to his spell as he peeked down to the newly sliced wound. He saw a thin line cut through his padded tunic that ran from one side of his upper abdomen to the other in a single arms length slice. A dark red line began to form along the padded tunic and Sindel felt weak in his knees at the seeping red sight.

The bandit leader set to task and spun to face Sindel directly. The man took a step forward to finish the elven mage when Sindel heard another _twang _from behind him.

_Thunk!_

A blurring streak of an arrow sped past Sindel's head. It was so close to his right cheek, Sindel felt the rush of wind zip by him. Dellya's arrow struck true and thudded into the bandit leader, stopping his advance for the moment!

The man exhaled and moaned in pain as the arrow buried itself deep into his left leather armored shoulder.

Dellya dropped her bow to the ground and sprinted forward towards the wounded bandit leader. She drew forth her own long hunter's blade from her belt scabbard as she charged, leaving Sayeth and the horses behind her. Her hands shook with fear and rage at the same time. Her red face pumping with blood as her eyes welled up with concern for the fallen dwarf at the brigand's feet.

Sindel turned his attention away from his bleeding abdomen and the rushing Dellya. He saw the man called Felton beginning to shake his head clear from his spell and begin to move once more. Sindel flicked his wand and began whispering his arcane words in a rushed concentration once again. Felton slowed down again and his movements stopped completely as Sindel completed his spell over the man.

Behind the battle with Sindel, the pair of men advancing towards Acanthus had paused only briefly at their leader's shouted warning. Both continued towards the barbarian as there was little they could do to help their leader, without dealing with Acanthus first. They had covered most of the distance to the Avarri and squared themselves to meet the advancing warrior.

Acanthus saw his dwarven ally put hard into the ground by the bandit leader and his anger flared into a full born rage. For a moment, the two hooded bandits in front of him thought the barbarian may just split the two and charge right past them, not caring if they felled him along the way with blades from behind. Both hooded men set to receive the angry barbarian's charge forward.

But Acanthus was ready as well and advanced until he was just a pace away from both men. The man on his left, the one called Notch, lead first with his attack at Acanthus. Notch swung with power from a high shoulder angle towards Acanthus' torso and towards the barbarian's wounded shoulder. Acanthus moved faster and crashed into the sweeping swing with his own heavy sword in a one handed block. A piercing ring echoed throughout the forest as steel clashed against steel from the meeting blades.

The bandit on Acanthus' right, the one called Hrond, moved almost in unison with his ally and he stabbed forth with his long blade towards Acanthus' other unwounded side. Acanthus saw the double team as he blocked Notch. Acanthus moved his body close into Notch as he blocked, almost crashing into him to avoid the second lunging strike. Acanthus then spun a quick low circling spin, out of the block and towards Hrond.

The large blade whirred through the air, connecting with its target. Acanthus had spun low, almost into a crouch and his powerful blade tore into the lightly armored stomach of Hrond. The fine Avarri blade cut through leather, flesh, and bone easily as Hrond screamed out in pain.

Hrond was finished and he knew it as he staggered backwards, away from Acanthus. The bandit grabbed his spilling guts and fell back to the ground in a cut off scream that turned to a gurgle as he slumped back.

Acanthus looked left to the sword arm of Notch, the man he had initially blocked and spun away from. Notch had advanced from the block and his sword arm was still wide and not pressing towards Acanthus' as the Avarri has predicted. Instead, Acanthus saw that Notch had freed a long dagger and now drove that towards Acanthus from the bandit's left hand, which was closer to the barbarian and just inside his defenses.

Acanthus had but a moment to move, as his heavy blade, coupled with his wounded shoulder, had no chance of blocking the tight inside strike.

Acanthus pushed up from his crouch with his powerful legs and took the dagger strike solidly into his massive chest, trying to avoid a more fatal strike. Notch was squarely aiming to drive the long pointed metal blade into the barbarian's open neck or perhaps his eye from the downward stab.

The dagger chunked into Acanthus' chest on his right side, just below his shoulder blade. The long blade sunk in deep and burned with pain throughout Acanthus' entire body. But Acanthus did not stop his angle or his thrust up with his legs. He continued his spring and drove the top of his head up, into Notch's jaw with a powerful crashing force. Notch's teeth gnashed together as the man bit off the end of his tongue and moaned in pain. Acanthus pushed through the radiating pain throughout his torso and grasped his heavy blade with two hands.

With a final, powerful, two handed swing, Acanthus halted the moans of the hooded man as his head was severed from his body. Both dropped to the ground as Acanthus finished his follow through swing.

Acanthus turned to see Dellya sprinting forward, dropping her bow as she did so. The big Avarri took a single long stride forward and felt his body swoon in pain and light headedness. He stopped for a half moment and tried his best to steel himself to action. Acanthus shook his head furiously and tried to force the pain from his thoughts.

The Avarri felt a warmth coat over his body, almost like a soothing numbness that layered over the stinging and shooting pain in both of his shoulders. Acanthus tried his best to shake loose from the warming numb feeling. He drove himself forward another rage filled step or two and was again forced to stop. The Avarri fell to one knee and braced himself with his sword to not fall over completely. Blood continued to stream down both arms and shoulders around him.

Back near the horses, Sayeth watched as Dellya charged forward towards the wounded bandit leader and the fallen dwarf. This left the girl with bigger problems as she noticed the brigand called Zeb circling to the right of her and the horses. The pale girl began to breathe in short tedious breaths as she looked about for something to arm herself with. The hooded Zeb stalked closer, sword in hand, towards the lone pale girl.

Sayeth wanted to run and to warn Dellya at the same time as the man continued to creep closer and closer, but words escaped her. Sayeth was frozen with fear and indecision as the man advanced another few paces to their right, now within arm's length of the nearest horse.

It was then that a dark shape took form out on the perimeter of the camp, just next to a large tree some thirty paces away from Sayeth and the approaching Zeb. The frightened girl had a clear view of the form as the dark image appeared behind the stalking brigand, but directly in line with Sayeth's fear ridden stare. Sayeth thought she saw the dark form shift in motion from something small, like a thick black animal, to something taller and standing upright, but could not be sure. Where there was a dark stout form a second ago, there was now a lurking thin man in black robes behind the stalking Zeb.

The unknowing brigand continued his advance towards Sayeth.

"Easy now, easy now pretty horsy, no need to worry, Zeb will take care of you," the man promised as he edged closer.

Sayeth heard feint hissed words ushered forth from the robed man in the distance.

Zeb froze and advanced no more.

Sayeth froze with fear and her short, quick breaths turned into none at all as terror gripped her. The robed man whispered another incantation towards the motionless bandit and then both were gone, as if they had never been there at all. No sounds, no bandit, no robed man, just the horses bumping around into each other and the lone girl who had seen it all. Sayeth's eyes could grow no wider and no breath took to her lips.

Dellya charged forward with blinding speed and single purpose. She passed by Sindel in a blur and on towards the wounded bandit leader. The man with an arrow in his shoulder had recovered from the surprising wound and was trying to right himself so that he could advance once again against the wounded elf. As soon as Dellya passed Sindel, she sprang forward in a leaping assault. Sindel caught the image from the side and thought she looked like a springing mountain lion from behind him that was leaping into a wounded surprised calf.

Dellya hit the bandit leader with all her weight from the pounce. The force of her ninety or so pounds was not nearly enough to knock the man to the ground, but that was not her full intention. Dellya's plunged her hunter's knife deep into the man's chest, just a hair below where the arrow already had imbedded itself. The mark was so close that the lunging stab broke part of the arrow shaft off as she struck, sending a long crimson streaked mark down Dellya's right arm as she plunged at the man's chest with the deep leaping blow.

The bandit leader screamed again in pain and shook Dellya loose in a panicked frenzy. The thin girl spun backwards away from the man as the shove sent her tumbling back and spiraling to the ground in a violent crash.

Sindel was already in motion with his wand and arcane words ushered forth from his whispering elven lips. The tip of his wand flared with an angry red light and a bolt of crimson energy roared forth from the wand towards the man. Heat formed in the air around the wand and a sizzle of energy crackled in the air as the bolt blasted forward. The energy hit the bandit leader in the face and knocked him several feet in the air. The smell of burnt flesh and a crackling of energy, mixed about the air as the man landed with a harsh dead thud. The man lay motionless as his black hood was melted into his scorched face from the spell.

Sindel looked past the burned bandit leader's corpse and saw Ozwulf trying to push himself up from the ground. He then checked the frozen bandit called Felton with a glance until he was sure his enchantment was still in place. Sindel then looked back towards Acanthus. The big barbarian was on a knee, oozing blood from multiple wounds, a bone hilted long knife still imbedded in one side of the warrior's chest while a bolt stuck out from his shoulder. Acanthus' then fell to the ground in a heap, no longer able to stay propped upright. Sindel fought against doing the same as he staggered forward towards Dellya in a doubled over moan.


	12. Chapter 12 - Wounded

**Chapter 12 – Wounded**

A stifled moan drifted out from the area near the tree where the horses were tied to. Dellya peeked over towards the commotion and saw the brigand called Felton, still tied up over where Sindel had placed him after the battle. She had to stuff cloth in the man's mouth after he awoke from Sindel's spell as the man would not stop his loud babbling rants and threats. When the brigand was not begging for miserable life, he was loudly shouting warnings of violence to each and every companion in the camp who would listen.

Dellya turned her attentions back to Ozwulf, who was propped up next to her, back against a tree. She had done what she could to clean the dwarf's head wound with water from the nearby stream and was now doing her best to apply pressure to the gash to ease the bleeding. But the wound continued to leak out blood and Ozwulf continued to struggle against any such aid. Each time the stubborn dwarf tried to stand; the wound would open and pour out blood down his head and into his hair and face. This was soon followed by a swooning, light headed Ozwulf, falling quickly down to the ground on his knees or his backside. Ozwulf had tried this several times, all with the same results, and each to Dellya's dismay and scolding.

"Hold still ye blasted fool," Dellya warned again, pushing Ozwulf's shoulder down hard as he struggled against the cloth bandages she was applying to the top of his blood soaked head.

"I be hearin' ye lass, apologies," Ozwulf grumbled, shifting again.

"I jus' be so spittin' mad right now, I cannot be sittin' still!"

Dellya glanced over to Sindel to see if the elf had finished working on Acanthus' wounds yet. The big Avarri had been so heavy to move, the thin framed Sindel and even smaller Dellya, had to tie a rope to one of the horse's saddles in order to drag the unconscious barbarian over to where they had started a fire. Dellya looked on with concern as Sindel worked his healing arts on the big warrior. Acanthus looked pale and had not woken since the end of the fight, almost an hour ago.

"Any improvement," Dellya whispered to Sindel?

"Uhm . . . perhaps, a little I believe," Sindel replied cautiously.

Sindel looked almost as pale as the big warrior lying motionless next to him. Several wet red chunks of cloth lay next to them both. Some were from the elf's own deep cut across his abdomen. Sindel had not dressed his own wound properly yet or with any magical aid, instead, tending first to the injured Ozwulf and Acanthus over this past hour. Red streaks leaked down his tunic near his cut abdomen and a heavy lather of sweat was forming around his pasty colored brow.

"Ye need be tendin' to ye self elf, less ye be workin' ye self into a deathly sleep 'fore long," Ozwulf grunted out, shrugging about restlessly as he spoke. This caused Dellya to push the dwarf down again as she sighed her frustrations.

"The dagger broke bone I'm afraid," Sindel said of Acanthus' wound.

"It took Dellya and me both to just remove it from his shoulder. I am sewing it up as best I can, but without my magic, the wound would just seep continuously and bleed him out by morning. Or grow infection upon the morrow and he would lose the arm at best shortly after, if not his very life. Choices and priority are few at this point my friend. My own _nick_ will keep, at least for now."

This brought another long string of dwarven curses out from Ozwulf's mouth. Sindel grinned slightly as he looked over near the campfire, scanning for Sayeth. He noticed her crouched just past the fire, a cloak pulled tightly around her thin pale frame.

"Sayeth, could you bring me some more water and another clean dressing," Sindel whispered out, his own breathing was raspy and shallow.

The pale girl with the green dragon tattoo on her arm rose like a lifeless thing and did as Sindel asked without question.

Sayeth grabbed a fresh water skin from one of the horses' packs and then grabbed another clean set of cut cloth pieces from Sindel's own pack. She had not said a word since the fight and looked just as pale and wounded as all of the others, although she showed no signs of any wound upon her thin form.

Dellya continued to eye her with a look of contempt and disgust. The two had not liked each other from the beginning, but Sayeth's lack of action in the near fatal skirmish had only broadened that feeling for Dellya.

Dellya poured another drizzle of cool water down Ozwulf face. His red swollen nose was puffy and swollen with blood. The dwarf grimaced at the cool spray of water, but offered no resistance or complaint.

"Thank ye lass," Ozwulf said as the cool water poured over his face and down into his thick beard.

"Be tellin' me 'gain how ye an' ol' pasty elf over there be finishin' off that bastard that took me to the ground 'gain," Ozwulf beamed with a bloody grin.

"I told ye already Oz," Dellya said, "and it all happened in a blur. Even now, the details seem to mesh all together, like they happened to someone else and not to me at all."

"She did us all proud my friend," Sindel added as he poured a trickle of cool water down his own face to refresh himself.

"You both did," Sindel continued.

"Without you, I would have been killed several times over, I am sure of that."

"Bah, we all looked to be doin' our parts," Ozwulf offered.

"The lad there be downin' half their snake bitten murderous lot, all to himself."

"If I could be teachin' the big lad to duck an' dodge a bit more, he mighta still been standin' at the end o' that there skirmish me be thinkin'," Ozwulf boasted with a hoarse wheezy chuckle.

"We still need to move as soon as Acanthus and you can ride," Sindel cautioned to the dwarf.

"At least one of their band got away, perhaps more if they had a rear scout at all. Or if they were part of another, larger group."

"_Agreed_, I be at the ready even now," Ozwulf boasted as he tried once more to push himself up off the ground from his sitting position next to the tree.

"_Stop that_," Dellya barked, pushing him back down again, "He said _when_ Acanthus was up and about as well and that is not this moment ye stubborn dwarven fool!"

"I need to be settin' to trackin' girl, that way we be knowin' how many be escapin' an' which direction they be headin' fer. Be jus' a matter o' time 'fore they be comin' back with a vengeance 'pon their minds, seekin to be finishin' what they be startin'."

"I told you, I already did that," Dellya said, loud enough for the entire camp to hear her clearly.

"And I told you, they had no one else with them. And for the third time, there was no sign of the man who was stalking about near Sayeth and me during the fight. He was there and then he wasn't."

Dellya pivoted her body and stared at Sayeth, who was once again crouched with her blanket pulled about her thin body.

"_Sayeth_, anything to add," Dellya chided, staring at the girl with daggers in her eyes?

Sayeth stared forward into the small flickering flames of the camp fire and did not blink or offer any words. She just shook her head from side to side, with nothing to add, as she had done several times before over the past half an hour. Sindel watched the exchange with gnawing curiosity, as did the squirming Ozwulf.

Sindel began examining the wound on his torso and rinsed it with clean water, removing his blood stained tunic to get a better look at the wound as he did so. It was not too deep, only the swords tip had cut through the tunic as well as his flesh. But the wound was long, grazing the entirety of his upper abdomen, from rib to rib.

The wound stung as the water poured over it and new rivulets of fresh blood beaded up along the wound's long seam. Sindel pushed about the cut with his cloth bandages, trying to clean the wound as he went. Each new pat was met with a sharp inhaling noise from the wincing elf. Sindel believed the ribs to be deeply bruised, not likely cracked. This was another small blessing in what had proven to be a very dangerous and almost fatal morning for the group.

"I can work on this cut of mine, as well as your nose and head with more attention in the morning," Sindel offered to Ozwulf.

"I just need a little rest before I exert more magics and I fear I am dangerously close to being spent for today."

"Understood elf," Ozwulf replied, "ye be doin' more than well . . . ye know that right?"

Sindel nodded a weary thank you in appreciation at the dwarf's heartfelt compliment.

The dwarf looked up in the sky and saw the sun arcing down to the west horizon through the canopy of tree limbs above. Ozwulf guessed they had only two or three hours left of daylight before the deep forest that was the Brecillian engulfed them in its dark shadowy cloak for the night.

"If ye be havin' anythin' left elf, be usin' it on the lad," Ozwulf said to Sindel.

"The rest o' us can be limpin' on horseback 'fore night sets, but the lad be way too big an' heavy fer us to be tryin' to move on our own. An' he can't be drug by horse nor laid 'pon a saddle on that chest o' his in his current conditions."

Sindel nodded as he tied the cloth bandages in strips to his own abdomen and pulled them tightly to a knot. The elf made his way back towards Acanthus and began to check the pair of wounds on the barbarian's shoulders once again.

"Ye two lasses, be packin' up the camp an' be gettin' us at the ready," Ozwulf ordered. "We move as soon as the lad be wakin'."

Dellya let the stubborn dwarf take over the pressured bandage on his head and went about as commanded. Sayeth did so as well. The two did not speak but hurried toward gathering the supplies that Sindel and Dellya had used to help tend to the wounds. Dellya glanced again at the struggling, gagged, tied up bandit named Felton.

"What about him," Dellya asked Ozwulf?

"Don't ye be worryin' 'bout him none, he be stayin' 'ere," Ozwulf promised. "Dead o' alive, that be fer him to be decidin'," Ozwulf answered coldly.

"Either way, I be dealin' with that meself, once we be on our ways."

It did not take long before the two girls had the horses set and the small make shift camp packed up. Sayeth made one final short trip to the nearby creek that Sindel had found earlier, to refill the water skins. Upon her return, Acanthus had woken and was speaking to Ozwulf and Sindel in low hushed tones. Another spell or two from Sindel's nearly depleted arcane energies had the big warrior up and moving about, all be it gingerly, a short time after that.

Sayeth could see that the healing magics of Sindel had worked miracles upon the warrior, as both large wounds on his shoulders were bandaged, but no longer seeping blood. Just the fact that the warrior was walking around and stowing his gear upon his horse, using his damaged shoulders at all, was miraculous unto itself. It had been but an hour or two since the companions had almost all faced death, but here they were, packing up and setting out upon the trail once more.

Sayeth searched about the perimeter of the camp looking for signs of the mysterious robed man she had seen during the battle, but there was nothing there. She had done this a dozen times or more over the past hour, all with the same empty gnawing results. Sayeth noticed Sindel moving gingerly towards his own horse, his normal smile and light step were now replaced with a grimaced movement of an elf three times his age. Sindel struggled as he secured his own pack to his horses' saddle, wincing with each raising movement of his arms.

"Here, let me help," Sayeth offered, walking over to the elf to help him stow his pack.

"Your paler than me now you know," she jested.

"_Indeed_," Sindel whispered while taking in a sharp breath of air.

"Where is the man, the bandit man," Sayeth asked, noticing he was no longer tied up and laying near the tree where she last saw him, before her trip to the creek.

"Gone," Sindel replied, "with Ozwulf. Rest assured, he will not be returning to us."

"Oh, I see."

"We ride out when Ozwulf returns, it should not be long."

On the other side of camp, Sayeth watched Acanthus as he tucked away a small leather sack full of bandit hoods and tied them to his pack saddle. The big warrior then ascended his horse to try and get a feel for his balance upon the creature. Once he was set upon the horse, he spurred it forward gently at first and then at a slight gallop around the perimeter of the camp.

"He pushes himself already, _why_," Sayeth asked Sindel in a whisper?

"He is driven . . . and it is his way I think. When on the adventurer's road, we all must be at the ready for the next danger to make an attempt on our lives, right? Beasts and murderers set no schedule for our deaths? Most of us are no different than Acanthus, ready to push ourselves to what is needed, whether timely or not."

"_Most_," she echoed, her face awash with self-doubt.

"I meant no slight to you Sayeth," Sindel shot back.

"I am just saying that none of us are ready to move on from what happened earlier, but it is what we must do."

"We have a mission to accomplish and potential enemies in these bandits at our backs now. Whether we are ready or not, we must push through and endure. If not, we will meet our end, which is the road of the adventurer."

"I know," Sayeth whispered, "I understand, I . . . just . . . I . . ."

Sayeth looked away and stared at the ground. Sindel reached to pat the pale girl on the shoulder, to provide her some reassuring comfort, as he could see that she was struggling with the events that had transpired with the battle. But the thin girl moved away and made her way over to her horse in lonely silence, unable to find any comfort at the moment.

Dellya was already up and about on her horse as well, joining Acanthus in his short gallop around the perimeter of the camp. Ozwulf returned shortly after that, alone, as Sindel had predicted. As soon as the dwarf made his way to the center of the make shift camp, all the companions made their way to him to hear what he had to report.

"As we all be suspectin', these cut throats be part o' the _Black Hoods_," Ozwulf reported to the group as they circled up around him on horseback.

"The same group that be plaguin' Loggerswald all winter long."

"The leader o' this small scoutin' band, the one that Sindel and Dellya be puttin' down, went by the name o' _Hargrove the Blade_. But that be 'bout the extent o' what our man be willin' to part with on that there subject. Nothin' o' numbers or camps or intentions were to be comin' from his lips, at least not this day."

"Not so surprising," Sindel added. "Any feel if they marked us all the way from Loggerswald or not?"

"I be not believin' that to be tha' case. Me be thinkin' a scout be spottin' us 'pon the trail earlier an' the murderous dogs be ridin' ahead an' be settin' up that little greetin' fer us jus' 'fore we be ridin' 'pon 'em."

"And what of the man who escaped," Dellya asked?

"Ye be right Dellya on ye recollection, our man be sayin' that man's name be _Zeb_, although he be havin' no clue 'bout the man's where 'bouts nor his intentions."

"Elf . . . ye an' the lad feel up to a ride 'til dark or jus' beyond perhaps," Ozwulf asked?

"You would have to tie me down to make me stay here my friend," Sindel replied, his bruised ribs making each word a struggle as he bristled them out in short hisses.

"An' ye Acanthus?"

"Sindel's magics are a wonder," Acanthus replied.

"Both of my arms still feel weak, robbed of strength, and there is a tingle of numbness in my right shoulder when I lift it above my chest, but I am good to ride this afternoon and even more, if it is needed."

"Alright then, let us be makin' the most o' the next couple o' hours. That should be puttin' us all very close to our mark fer mornin'. We be doublin' up on the watch as well this night, so be at ye ready," Ozwulf warned.

"Agreed," Acanthus said with a nod.

"Acanthus, ye an' Dellya be takin' up point an' be ridin' ahead a bit. Not so far as ye be out o' sight, but a bit o' distance to be givin' us some scouts advantage, 'k?"

Acanthus nodded and prodded his horse ahead of the rest and pushed it quickly to a gallop with Dellya following closely behind him. Sindel and Sayeth followed suit, heading out in a trot in the same direction a few moments after that.

Ozwulf let them move into the next cluster of trees and then prodded his horse forward, but not in the direction his companions had moved in. The dwarf pushed west instead, past the creek and back towards the site of the battle from earlier in the day.

It only took him a few minutes to find the place he was searching for and he quickly slid off his saddle upon his arrival. He tied his reins to a nearby tree and moved over to the area where the ambush had taken place two hours before. Ozwulf wanted to have one final poke around the area before leaving it for good.

The dwarf had seen something earlier that day that remained a gnawing itch in his mind. Something that he had glanced at as he was helping tie up the bandit called Felton, before they moved closer to the creek. But at that time, blood continued to leak down into the dwarfs face and Dellya had been relentless in her stubborn warding over his head wound and he could not continue his investigation of the area as he had wanted to.

The dwarf paced in a few half circles for several moments before stopping near a large tree, about forty paces away from where the battle had centered. Ozwulf bent down for a closer inspection of the tracks and markings that lay about the dirt and grass covered ground. His head throbbed as he bent down and a slight dizziness threatened to flatten him for a moment. Ozwulf regained his balance and stared at the area near the base of the tree, rubbing his eyes a bit to clear his vision.

"What be this then," Ozwulf whispered aloud to himself. "_Paw prints_?"

"Here an' there, then they be no where an' be comin' from nowhere . . ?"

"An' 'ere, there be a man's markin's, an' he be standin' 'ere an' then . . . both be gone, an' nothin' more to be seein'?"

"Somethin' be strange an' amiss 'ere. Magic be involved an' I be wagerin' me big bushy beard that it be no bandit magic at that . . ."

Ozwulf stood slowly and then returned to his horse. The dwarf took one more look about from his higher vantage upon the horse's saddle and then spurred it forward to catch up with the others. Ozwulf did not like the feelings stirring in his gut at what he had seen.

The companions rode as hard as their bodies allowed them over the next few hours, putting several miles between them and the ambush site. For the last bit of the ride, Ozwulf had the group veer off the trail by several hundred yards and ride through the thicker, denser brush of the forest to throw off scouts or trackers. It did not take them long to find a defensible area centered between several ancient thick trees in the deeper woods, away from the game trail they had been following all afternoon.

Camp was quiet that night, as Sindel and Sayeth spent much of the time cleaning, redressing, and tending to the wounds of the others, both magically as well as through more mundane means. Sindel also spent the last hour before he took rest, reviewing some of the base rules of magic to a quiet and less than focused Sayeth, who seemed distant even more than usual. Dellya and Acanthus worked at tending to the fire and then kept a vigilant watch as dusk turned to night inside the dark woods of the Brecillian.

Ozwulf spent much of the evening, quietly pondering what he had seen earlier at the battle site. The dwarf decided he would tell Sindel what he had seen in the tracks, but not until there was a time when Sindel was away from the others. Ozwulf did not want to be overly secretive with what he had learned, but there were many unanswered questions from what he had seen earlier. Something did not sit right with him and until it did, Ozwulf was not going to take chances that he did not need to.

As Ozwulf requested, the companions doubled up on watches that night, making sure no one watched alone for the duration of the cool cloudy night. The morning dawn brought hazy light to the forest, but the spirits around the small camp were still solemn. All went about their morning routines in somber silence with Sindel expending a small amount of magical healing upon his own sore wound, on Ozwulf's throbbing head, and on Acanthus, to ensure everyone would be ready for whatever the remainder of the day may bring.

Ozwulf spent a few minutes of the morning speaking to Dellya and Sayeth, both together and individually, trying to get a perspective on the area that lay ahead. The place they sought had been referred to as the _Plots _or the _Darkmoor lands_, by Sister Plyasenth. Ozwulf knew they had to be close, but Dellya confirmed his suspicion this morning, as she believed the area was no more than an hour or two away by her recollection. She had not been this far north in a few years, but remembered enough of the trail and the area to know that they were getting close.

The group mounted up after a quick meal and rode onward to the north, joining back up with the game trail as they went. It did not take them long to find the area they were searching for. As the sun rode high overhead, above the dark canopy of thick branches, the party spotted an area ahead on the trail that was like no other place they had seen so far in these woods. The group slowed to a halt as they made their way to the perimeter of the strange circle of land ahead.

The rounded plot of land spanned about the size of a large farmstead. Normally, this clearing would have been called a meadow of sorts, but it was not like any meadow any of the companions had ever seen. No living tree sprang from the rounded clearing; no green grass lay in patches on brown healthy soil.

Instead of the normal greens and browns of the surrounding wood, this area was made up of stark blacks, grays, and chalky tanned shades of white. The circle of land looked dry, where the dirt had turned to mud or clay, and split into hundreds of tiny cracks all about. Where shrubs once sprouted and bloomed, now only remained black thorn briars or shriveled black husks of strangle vine that knotted together in corded tethers and large frayed bundles upon the ground. Trees could not be found in this place and the circular plotted area stood clear within the woods in an open defiance. And although the bare cloudy sky could be seen above this plot of gray soil, it was as if the sun could not find the small area beneath it. Whether it was a passing bank of clouds or a stretching branch from a perimeter tree, it seemed as if only dim strains of daylight could find this shadowy place.

Acanthus dismounted from his horse and walked within the perimeter of the haunting piece of landscape. He knelt down upon the gray cracked ground and grabbed a handful of the chalky dry crumbling sand like soil. The warrior examined the handful of soil as it crumbled into a chalky creamy dust in his hand that looked to him like burned ash from a body.

"By _the Mountain Father_," Acanthus whispered, "_never _have I seen land like this before."

"Aye, it be a sight fer sure," Ozwulf agreed as he dismounted.

"No birds, no animals, no trees, nothing around this place but black thorn brush and dry cracked mud dust," Dellya added, loosening her bow as she too dismounted.

"It is if this piece of land died within the heart of the Brecillian and never re-grew," Sindel added.

"Like an eye plucked from a beautiful face, almost like some sort of blight or an old scarred wound of the natural world."

Sindel dismounted from his horse and walked just within the boundaries of the area. He eyed over the inner piece of land that stretched out ahead of him.

Sindel could see a series of old stone burial mausoleums that ranged in size and shape towards the center of this barren place. All were covered in black thorny shriveled vines and all seemed to be in various stages of decay. He could also see some broken statuary along the edges of the circle of stone burial crypts, although he could not make out details from this vantage.

Sindel breathed in. The entire area smelled of rotting leaves and decaying old soil. The kind of scent usually found near brackish unmoving banks of dark water near swamps or moors. But Sindel saw no body of water anywhere on the plot of gray black land, only cracked ground and blackened shriveled dry vegetation.

Sindel pushed forward his arcane senses as far as he dared and concentrated on the area around him.

Sayeth watched Sindel in awe as the elf pushed his magical presence out from him in search of other magic's in the area. The girl's pale face revealed a hint of emotion for the first time since the ambush the day before. The others watched Sindel as well, waiting for the elf to finish his magical search of the nearby area, hoping it might provide some clue as to what else might be expected within this dark ominous place.

"Nothing threatening, as far as magical dangers around us, although something pushes back against my intruding senses here," Sindel answered quietly to the group.

"The energies of the dead are also very strong here. With this being a burial place for generations, I guess that is to be expected."

"Someone resists your magics then," Sayeth asked in a low whisper?

"Yes and no," Sindel answered.

"_Something_, not someone," Sindel corrected, "but yes, it pushed back my magical senses as I extended it deeper within this place. I believe it may be some old wards set to the land itself or the crypts perhaps. I have seen such things before, but this one seems very potent and very old from what I can glean."

"No bother," Ozwulf interrupted, "our eyes an' wits be workin' fine this day. I be suggestin' we be usin' 'em both as we be havin' a peek 'round."

"Stay close as we be movin' 'bout. Acanthus, see to puttin' the horses over there, outside the area an' to the woods lad," Ozwulf asked as he pointed behind them into the green dense woods just a dozen paces outside the perimeter of the gray soiled area of land.

"Let us be movin', I be wantin' a closer look at those standin' tombs."

Acanthus tied the horses up as instructed, leaving them in the woods just outside the area. All five of the companions then moved into the gray patch of land that the locals called _the Plots of Darkmoor_. Ozwulf lead the way, his crossbow out and at the ready. Sindel followed close behind, his thin tapered wooden wand tightly in hand. Acanthus drifted off to their left a bit, but stayed close as instructed, his sword drawn and ready. Dellya then followed behind Sindel with her bow out and knocked with an arrow. And finally, Sayeth took to the rear of the procession, no weapon in her boney thin hands. Her hazel eyes darted back and forth across the area, searching for movement of any kind, but none could be seen.

Ozwulf crept closer to the outer ring of old stone structures towards the center of the area. He noticed a crumbling old statue of a robed man with a shepherd's crook in hand near the small stone crypt nearest to him. Its head had crumbled off in several places, leaving only half of it intact, and one of the arms was broken off at the elbow on its right side. Thick strands of thorny black vine draped over the statue, like everything else in this place. The dwarf moved past the statue and closer to the nearest tomb. The others followed cautiously behind him and fanned out around the front of the small crypt.

"_Too_ quiet here," Dellya whispered.

"Aye, it be unnatural an' unnerving, that be fer sure," the dwarf replied.

Sindel's eyes worked over the stone door and cut frame area of the small crypt, inspecting it for details. There were dozens of intricate stone indentions and rune work patterned all about the small rectangular stone door. Sindel gently moved a bit of black dead vine from side to side with a poke of his wand in order to get a better look at several of the lines of scripted etched runes.

"Old _Tevinter_ marks I believe," Sindel guessed as he swerved about to see as many as he could put his eyes upon.

"Can ye be makin' any sense o' um," Ozwulf asked?

"Some. My knowledge of their marks is only partial, but I will do my best. It may take a little time and we may need to clear some of these vines and dead thickets away for a cleaner look. There are many of the markings hidden all along these walls, not just here on the door," Sindel answered.

"I count at least seven or eight of these crypts that are standing and another pair that have crumpled into piles of rubble," Dellya added in a whisper.

"How do we know which one to begin with," she asked, turning towards Ozwulf?

"A fine question lass an' the simple an' short answer be to always be goin' with ye gut," Ozwulf answered.

"But, a longer version be that we be needin' to be takin' a quick glance 'bout this place first, for ye be makin' such decisions."

"What will we be looking for," Dellya asked? "Specifically I mean."

"Let's be makin' sure we be the only ones 'ere first o' all," Ozwulf replied.

"Then, let's be havin' a peek at all the crypts, to be makin' sure they be sealed 'pon their outsides, an' not cracked open none."

"I be needin' to get a feel fer what this fella _Darkmoor_ be all 'bout. Certainly, if he were to have secret knowledge an' secret baubles hidden 'bout, we need be knowin' if he be the sort to be hidin' em' very carefully or if he be hidin' em in plain sight, an' so forth."

"Be to knowin' the man an' ye know where an' how he be stashin' his precious goodies I always be sayin'."

"Acanthus, ye be takin' point, let's be doin' a full walk 'bout an' see if anyone be home eh?"


	13. Chapter 13 - Riddles and the Dead

**Chapter 13 – Riddles and the Dead**

Ozwulf lead the companions clockwise around the dusty plot of shriveled land, taking a cursory glance at each of the small stone tombs in the area. Around each, the bandaged dwarf would take a few moments sweeping about for tracks and signs of passage in the dusty grey cracked grounds. After nearly an hour of this, Ozwulf and the rest of the party felt confident they were alone here. There was little in the way of tracks or any signs of life, other than the companions own, as the search came to its conclusion.

Sindel returned to the first stone mausoleum, the one with old runic marking upon its exterior, and began to read through them once more. Sayeth sat motionlessly close by, on a fractured piece of chipped stone that had fallen from a nearby statue. Her thoughts seemed lost on other things as her eyes drifted away from Sindel and glanced about the edges of the woods in constant vigilance.

Dehlia took note of this as she set to keeping watch around the stone tomb while Sindel moved more and more pieces of thorny vine away from crypts exterior walls. Dozens of line of runic markings were revealed with each new clearing of dead vine. Acanthus set his watch in the center of the desolate plot, at a center point cross roads where the crypts paths met. The warrior glanced about nervously the entire time. The lack of tracks and the sweep around the circular area had not put the big Avarri at ease, but only raised his anxiety over the past half an hour.

Ozwulf on the other hand, seemed the most calm and at home in this place out of all the companions. After the groups initial walk around of the area, the dwarf had made himself a constant blur of motion and activity. Ozwulf moved from crypt to crypt, statue to statue, taking in details upon each area around the tombs themselves. Dehlia had tried several times to ask the dwarf what he was doing, playing shadow to him, as he buzzed about like a bearded humming bird amidst the shadowy grey plot of land. Each time though, the dwarf had paid her little heed, only answering her many questions with a quick hissing '_shush'_.

"I'm going to grab a water skin from my pack and check on the horses," Sayeth whispered to Sindel, breaking the long pause of silence in the air about the crypt.

"I won't be long."

The stick thin girl did not wait for a response from Sindel, who was lost in his deciphering of the rune etchings of the crypt walls. She moved without much of a sound back towards the ring of green growth where the horses had been tethered. Dellya watched her leave and then returned her watchful stare back towards the mumbling Sindel.

"Have ye made any sense of it at all," Dellya asked Sindel impatiently, trying her best to hide her restlessness.

Sindel's concentration broke and he snapped a glance back towards the girl, who was fidgeting behind him nervously.

"_Indeed_," he replied, a thin grin and a wink followed the answer.

"The family _Darkmoor_, or _Tu'Nevall_ if you like, was definitely fond of several things from what I can make of the marks upon the crypt walls."

Ozwulf's stopped his own search as Sindel spoke a dozen yards away and glanced over at the smiling elf. The dwarf had been over near the back wall of the next closest crypt when Sindel answered. The elf's words also caused Acanthus to glance over from his perch near the center of the plots and stare at the elf.

"The family's origin was rooted in old Tevinter, hence the runes. There is some lore in these lines about an older branch of the family, perhaps the generation or two before the family moved to Ferelden. I believe it says the oldest patriarch of the family was originally from a small village outside of _Weisshaupte_, in the northern Tevinter Empire's reaches."

"That be a far stretch a way from this set o' woods eh," Ozwulf added?

"Second, this family or at least the designer of these crypts had an affinity for _numbers_. There are numbers and references to numbers everywhere on these walls. Almost like a reference or perhaps even a code, it is very intriguing for sure and very specific in places."

"Lastly, this was a family that was well versed in the ways of _magic_."

"There are references to magic everywhere I read. It was in their family blood, their linage. It was practiced amongst their family members here, for generations I believe. And it was held in high regards from what I gather, a mark of excellence if you will. Many were Apostates I believe, no evidence of glyphs or runes of the _Circle_ and no respect for such a society from what I have read from some of these passages."

"I would guess most of this family, tried their best to live in seclusion, away from the prying eyes of _the Chantry_ and _the Circles_, while they carried out their lives here in the heart of Brecillian."

Ozwulf made his way over towards Sindel, eyeing the many lines of runes upon the stony crypt wall that were laid out in droves where Sindel had cleared much of the weeds and vines from its surface.

"Anything 'bout missin' or stolen baubles from the Chantry or perhaps mention o' which o' these might be _Terragar's_ tomb itself," Ozwulf asked?

"Nay, nothing yet," Sindel replied.

"This one here belonged to _Darkmoor's father_ I believe. I am still trying to find a name mixed in this jumble."

"Wasn't holdin' me breath fer such things," Ozwulf grumbled.

"Tis strange, I believe Darkmoor was the one who crafted all of these runes, or at least had someone do it to his specifications. It is all from his narrative. The lore, the history, the numbers, the arcane texts, all of it seems to be of his doing. I believe he created this place or had it created, or perhaps modified it during his lifetime."

"That be a might interestin' fer sure," the dwarf added.

"How about you, what did you see," Sindel asked Ozwulf.

"Well, there be no signs o' tomb robbers 'bout, from what I be seein'," Ozwulf replied, "which be odd to itself fer such a place as this, that be sittin' 'ere fer decades out in the woods by its lonesome, far from pryin' eyes an' the like."

"A couple o' crypts that be rubble piles look to be collapsin' on their own, due to weather an' age, nothin' more. Looks as if both be not finished when they be built an' the collapse be comin' over time due to the unfinished structures."

"Strange," Sindel said, "perhaps they were made for descendants at that time, but left unfinished after Darkmoor's untimely demise?"

"Aye, that be what I be guessin'," Ozwulf added.

"I guess Lord Darkmoor's children had less interest in this place than he did," Sindel said.

"An' I be seein' no hard evidence o' traps on these 'ere crypt doors, but, I be feelin' it in me bones that there be traps 'bout. Usually, that be meanin' magics I be guessin'."

Dellya's eyes went wide at this revelation and she drifted back a pace or two from the nearby crypt without conscious thought.

"Easy lass, ye be safe 'nough where ye be," Ozwulf offered the anxious girl.

"If there be any magics to be settin' off, we would be to settin' 'em off earlier, while we be pokin' around. I be guessin' that they be within' the little stone houses themselves or jus' within, or perhaps 'pon what be lyin' within'."

Dellya stopped her back-peddle and a blush of red crossed her cheeks, embarrassed by her nervous reaction to the news.

Over in the greener section of the forest, near the edges of the plot itself, Sayeth had made her way back over to the group of horses. The horses were still tethered up in a group where the companions had left them earlier. Sayeth stroked her horse gently along its neck as she walked up to it. She opened up her pack that dangled from its saddle horn. She then brought out a fresh water skin but did not open it immediately.

The girl was not really thirsty at all. She had used the excuse to scan the perimeter of the woods once again, away from the questioning stares of her new companions, especially the hawk eyed Dellya.

Since the battle with the brigands, the young girl continued her distant, quiet mood, casting many long glances into the deep shadowy woods around her. Her eyes scanned and strained into the deep dark, looking for something, anything, that would ease her nagging barbs of curiosity.

"Who was that man? Why did he help her? Was he a man, or a beast, or both? Was he even still here? Why . . ," the girl thought to herself.

Her horse swished its thick black tail back and forth, shooing a fly from its hid quarter, breaking Sayeth's thoughts for the moment. The swishing tail brushed against Sayeth's arm and the girl jumped with a startled twitch. Shivers ran all over her body from her arms down to her feet before she exhaled in relief seeing that it was just the horse's tail that had given her such a startle.

Sayeth shook her head and tried to breath normally again, trying to calm her nerves from the startle. She stroked the horse again and put the water skin back in her pack without drinking from it. She turned away from the horses and glanced back towards the graying soil of the rounded plot of land ahead.

As she began slowly shuffling back towards the nearest stone crypt, she glanced to her right, to the edges of the southern reaching tree line that was surrounding the gray ash meadow. She stopped in an abrupt shudder, staring into the dark green ring of shadows not more than a hundred paces to her right.

Her heart pounded and she drew in no breath as she went as still as the air around her.

Sitting there, covered in the deep shadows of a large moss covered fern, near a large ancient tree, was the very thing she had been looking for all the better part of the last day and night.

A large dark form of a muscled beast sat there in the shadows, just out of sight and using the covered back drop of the woods to its great advantage. The shadowed form was that of a chiseled thick black dog, squat and powerful as it sat upright in the cloak of the lush fern plants. Around its neck, Sayeth could see a large iron studded leather black collar that looked aged and worn from time.

And above that old collar were _its eyes_!

Sayeth could not break her stare from those eyes, as she could see that the eyes of the hound did not seem to belong to it at all. They were eyes of intelligence, unnatural to its form, _the eyes of a man_.

And not just any man, but _the_ man.

The eyes were of the man that she had seen during the battle the day before. The man she dare not speak of or about to anyone. Her anxieties, her worst fears, had all just come to life in front of her and she was left with nothing but a shivering icy stare from the distance.

The creature watched her from the shadows of the brush, staring at her, piercing her with its gaze. Its stare was focused and unnatural. It did not blink or turn as it watched, motionless, from its camouflaged position in the tree line.

For a long moment of time, Sayeth did not blink, did not move, and did not breathe. She just stared at the beast and it back at her. As she began to feel a bead of sweat form upon her forehead and the dizziness of her lack of air filling her head, she finally drew in a deep quiet hiss of new air.

With that, the beast was gone, as if it were never there.

But Sayeth knew it had been there. It had spoken to her. Not directly, with words perhaps, but with its eyes. Its message was clear, it was watching her. For what reason, Sayeth did not know and could not guess, but the pale girl knew the beast had marked her and no good could come of such things.

She drew in another breath and tried hard to calm her shaking hands and frame.

She returned quickly to her horse and let loose a stream of cool water upon her face and into her mouth. The refreshing water gave her new life and eventually the shaking in her limbs began to ease. She drank deeply again from the water skin as her mouth had become as dry and hot as a cracked desert at high sun. When she felt calm once more, she dried herself and she set out to returning to her companions at the nearby crypt, not wanting to alert suspicions amongst them.

She did not glance out into the woods as she returned. She would not search them again as she had seen what she needed to see.

Back at the nearby tomb, Sindel moved another large chunk of sharp briar vine from the lower portions of the front stone door slab and stared down at the etchings beneath. He blew the dust from some of the more shallow etched markings and bent down for a closer inspection.

"_Abarus Tu'Nevall_ . . ." he whispered out loud.

"Meanin'" Ozwulf asked?

"Darkmoor's father I believe, this is his tomb if I am not mistaken and that would be his name."

"I be wonderin' how ol' Darky felt 'bout his father then. Might be as good as any a place to be startin' eh," Ozwulf said with a shrug.

"The runes reveal no animosity between the two and from what I gather, I would say Abarus here was a mage, for sure, and Darkmoor would have held that fact in high regards," Sindel added.

"Perhaps not so high," Acanthus added, "if he did not take his father's name. There is no honor in that."

"Hmm, true 'nough lad," Ozwulf agreed.

Sayeth moved from the rear of the crypt and moved around to the front to look at the stone block door that everyone had gathered around. She kept her distance to the parameter of group and offered up no voice upon her return.

Dellya shot her the normal stare of contempt as she returned. Sayeth ignored this and turned her attention to Sindel and the tomb door, with its many lines of Tevinter runes.

"Share much," Dellya spat at Sayeth as the pale girl turned from her stare?

Sayeth glanced over again at the crouching Dellya, only partially paying attention to what Dellya had just said.

"What," Sayeth mumbled, still thinking about what she had seen in the woods?

"You go for your water skin to quench ye own thirst and offer none to ye friends upon ye return . . . _bah_," Dellya chastised.

"_Enough_ Dellya, it is not her task to water us like a herd of stock," Sindel interjected.

"Nay, just _common courtesy_ tis all," Dellya added, like a dagger throw into the thin girls chest.

"No need for manners I guess in the mud and brush, all by yourself eh," Dellya mocked?

Sayeth took the jab as she had done with so many others in her lifetime, in stoic silence and without a response. The pale girl just returned to staring at the lines of runes upon the crypts stone door, studying their many intricate patterns.

"Well," Sindel said, turning to Ozwulf. "How do we get in?"

"I see no handles upon this stone door. It looks set and pushed to seal after they entombed the one within. Acanthus may be strong, but even with the right tools, I question if he could pry this block out without a mighty struggle."

"The horses perhaps," Dellya offered, thinking back to the task the other day of moving the heavy and unconscious Acanthus from the ambush site?

"Good thought lass, but even they be needin' some anchor to be settin' 'pon the doors an' be puttin' their strength 'gainst its wedge an' weight."

"_Eight_"

The whispered single word came from behind the companions from the pale girl with the green dragon tattoo that danced around her thin arm. Everyone glanced back at Sayeth at once, confused and surprised at her whisper.

"_Eight_," Sindel asked?

"He uses it a lot in his markings," Sayeth answered, her hazel eyes darting back and forth across the tombs wedged door block.

"Did you notice it as well," Sayeth asked, staring up at Sindel now?

"_Indeed_," Sindel replied, still looking at Sayeth.

"I notice a lot of things. Right now I am noticing how _you_ can somehow _read_ ancient Tevinter runes, many of them, made for the eyes of _mages_."

"Try pushing or pulling the eighth set stone upon the door slab," Sayeth said, turning towards Ozwulf as she offered it.

Ozwulf stared at Sayeth for a long moment and then moved forward to the crypt door slab. The dwarf inspected it visually up and down, staring long and hard at the many squared blocks of cut stone that made up the crypt door.

"That was_ not_ much of an answer," Sindel prodded, still staring at Sayeth.

"I picked it up in my wanderings is all," Sayeth answered, "I have always had a way with runes and writings. They come very easy to my eyes."

"Hmm, eighth _up_ from its bottom or eighth _down_ from its top then," Ozwulf asked?

"Try bottom, moving from left to right and back to the left on the next row up," Sindel replied, turning his attention back to Ozwulf for the moment.

"Like the Tevinter mage rune texts," Sayeth added, "_right_?"

Sindel turned back to Sayeth, his confused look turning to one of narrow eyed frustration. Sayeth blushed slightly and did not offer an explanation, which curled Sindel's lips into a scowl.

"_Explain_," Sindel grunted. "Explain how you can read this and understand it better than I can. How do you know of Tevinter mage scrolls and symbol placement?"

Sayeth could see Dellya blaring forth a disapproving judgmental stare in her direction and also took note of Sindel's blush of anger upon his cheeks.

"Uhm . . . I . . . spent a year in the service of a Tevinter . . . _Apostate_, aboard a ship he lived and sailed upon, some time ago," Sayeth answered.

"He taught me some of his knowledge, from his scrolls he practiced with, but was unaware at how quickly I learned the writings and the rune marks. And I did not tell him, as it kept my mind from my _other duties_."

"_Other _duties . . . _in his bed_ I bet," Dellya sniped.

"_Dellya_," Sindel scolded!

A clicking noise now interrupted the tense conversation as all heads turned towards the crypt's stony front area.

Ozwulf pushed one of the stone square block pieces near the bottom and it now slid as his pressure pushed it into the structure of the door itself. A sliding noise of stone grinding and sliding against stone could be heard from within, along with a mechanical mechanism somewhere deeper.

The stone began to move now and slide inside the tomb itself until it had moved all the way inside the small crypt, gnashing along on a small stone track set into the floor just within the crypt itself.

Darkness lay within the opening to either side of the block that sat just within, allowing anyone who wished it, an entryway inside the stone crypt to either side of the block. A wave of decay and rot crept forth from the opening to either side of the stone block and forced everyone near the open area to step a few paces back as their stomachs each soured from the onrush of putrid air.

Acanthus rushed up from his position at the noise and the sight of the stone block opening revealing itself at Ozwulf's guided pressure.

"More on this later," Sindel shot back at Sayeth. "And . . . _well done_."

Sayeth grinned at Sindel's compliment, but remained silent as she watched. Dellya was already scouring the new entry way and circling back towards Ozwulf to get a closer look at what the dark egress promised beyond.

"Should I light a torch," Dellya asked Ozwulf, an excited sparkle in her eye.

"Nay lass, I be havin' somethin' better than a piece of kindlin'," Ozwulf promised as he un-slung his pack with a broad grin upon his face.

Ozwulf pulled forth a small lantern from his leather back pack. It looked a thousand years old to Dellya, who could see dozens of dents and dings upon its coppery bound corners and edges. Its four glass panels had scratches in many areas and it squeaked when the dwarf popped open a hinged area where the oil reservoir was. For a moment, Dellya thought the dwarf might be poking fun at her, but this thought quickly changed as Dellya noticed the meticulous care the dwarf took with the old beat up lantern as he filled it with oil and lit it with a bit of flint.

Sindel could only sit back and stifle a chuckle upon seeing Dellya's face, as she realized how serious the dwarf was about this old relic of a lantern.

"Bes' damned light source an' adventurer be ever wantin' eh," Ozwulf beamed as the glow from the old lantern began to illuminate the area near the crypt opening.

"Tis older than _dirt's_ great grandfather," Dellya said.

"_Bah_," Ozwulf snorted, "works, don' she?"

Ozwulf handed the old coppery lantern to Sindel, who took the thing with his own bit of disdain, but the elf did not say a word as he did so. He had been over the exact situation and had this exact conversation, many, many times over. Sindel just fell in line behind the advancing and crouching Ozwulf, arching the lantern over the dwarf's shoulder to provide as much light as he could for the exploring dwarf in front of him.

Ozwulf crept up to the stone entryway, large wooden stocked crossbow at the ready, and crouched down. He tightened himself into half his normal height as he advanced up. The dwarf then leaned in, to the left of the stone block, and took a peek inside the tomb. As his eyes adjusted to the deeper dark of the stone crypt, he pushed back the stench within as it threatened to turn his stomach.

"Tis a single stone dead man's box, nothin' else movin' within' that I be seein'," Ozwulf whispered back, taking a draw of clean air as he offered his report back to the others.

"Be no other way in or out either, that I be seein'."

"Are their more runes in there, upon the walls perhaps," Sindel asked?

"And is the stone coffin sealed or open," Sayeth added?

Dellya looked over at the nearby Sayeth in an open look of disgust.

"_Vultures_," Dellya hissed.

"_What_," Sayeth shrugged, "just curious to see what's within?"

"It could be a body, the body of this Abarus fellow. Or it could be empty, which would lead to some questions. Or it could be cracked open and pilfered. And there is an awful lot of rot smell coming from there, more than one stinky old corpse I would guess. Or worse yet, something could be moving within it," Sayeth shot back at Dellya.

Sindel peeked back over his shoulder at Sayeth with a raised eyebrow. Her imagination was proving to be as colorful and creative as his, he thought to himself.

"Or what if there were a _wand_ inside, his old wand perhaps. He was a mage was he not," Sayeth asked Sindel?

"I suppose you would just take it then," Dellya snapped back.

"An' what be the matter with that lass," Ozwulf piped in, spinning about to face the others?

"_Grave robbers_," Dellya exclaimed in a loud whisper, "that is not what we are!"

"Oh, I see, ye prefer the term, _explorers of the unknown_," Ozwulf asked sarcastically. "Or perhaps, _takers o' the riches_ we be findin'? Any o' them be grabbin' ye better?"

"Let me be tellin' ye lass," Ozwulf said, "very rarely do we be findin' any sort o' coin or loot that not be on the person o' somethin' that be dyin' or well be dead already."

"So, if ye plan on bein' an adventurer an' ye plan on eatin' food, and ye be needin' coin to be payin' fer that food, then ye best be getting' over some o' those fancy ideals ye learned back at ye tree village."

"I just . . . I . . ," Dellya stammered for a response as a blush rushed across her face at the admonishment the dwarf had just offered her.

"Welcome to real world, _Princess Tree Village_," Sayeth whispered.

"_Sayeth_," Sindel hissed, shooting the pale girl a disapproving scowl.

Ozwulf took note of the stammering Dellya and instantly began regretting his tone as well as his choice of words. Dellya saw the look of regret in the dwarfs stare and her embarrassment shifted to defensiveness.

"Well, when we get done here then, I shall point ye in the direction of me dead mum's gravestone back in Loggerswald," Dellya replied. "She was buried with an ivory choker my father gave her, I am sure we can scrape together some coins for the road with that prize."

Sindel's eyes opened wide at that offering and he stared back over at his dwarven friend, waiting for some response to that response.

"Now look lass," Ozwulf began, "we be meanin' no disrespect to the dead an' buried, tis not what this be 'bout."

"We be havin' a set plan fer these types o' things an' a set way we be doin' them, that be all. This be a dead family o' slavers with no descendants we know be livin'. An' if we be happenin' to be findin' some bit o' coin or loot 'bout the place while we be searchin' 'bout, then so be it. That tis all I be sayin' lass."

Dellya offered a roll of her eyes as her only response.

This sent Ozwulf back to the crypt opening in a growling moan of frustration. The dwarf had offered enough of an explanation and was not about to dig himself a deeper hole with the overly sensitive young woman. He was also not going to change his stance on looting crypts of long dead slavers, if the opportunity presented itself.

"The stone box be sealed elf," Ozwulf reported back to Sindel. "Ye be sensin' anythin', traps, hexes, or goodies perhaps?"

Sindel moved up to the stone center block and its opening. He then leaned inside to the right, opposite of Ozwulf, and looked about the small crypt. The lantern dangled in one hand over his head. The crypt smelled of aged deep rot and foul decay. The crypt room itself seemed small to Sindel, about the size of a small cottage's living space, with no windows or other areas to enter or exit to. In the back, as Ozwulf had described, was a resting stone rectangle built into the stone floor, centered against the back wall. Sindel could see no runes or lines of etchings on the shadowy walls in here, but did notice a few runes etched upon the stone lid of the coffin.

Sindel reached out with his arcane senses once again and let them wash over the small crypt area as far as he could push them. Once again, the elf felt a push against his senses from some ancient ward or force he could not pinpoint. There was something else as well, something small, just beyond the intrusive pushing force he wrestled with.

"I sense no traps of the arcane," Sindel whispered to Ozwulf, "but, there is something of a magical nature within. And I can see some marks upon its lid. I think we should have a closer look."

"Do you feel it would be safe if I enter," Sindel asked?

"Aye, but be followin' me from this side. An' only be steppin' where I be steppin', ye know how it be done elf," Ozwulf warned.

"Acanthus, ye an' the lasses be holdin' 'ere while we be getting' a peek just inside. Be at ye ready fer anythin' now, k," Ozwulf ordered back to the others.

Sindel and Ozwulf made their way inside the inner housing of the small stone crypt. Sindel eyed the rune etchings on the surface of the stone lid of the rectangular coffin. Ozwulf examined the lid itself, eyeballing its potential weight and examining the workmanship of the crafting on the stone.

"Its reads, _Abarus, rest in peace, dear father. Know that I was a better, more powerful man and mage than you ever could be. You were the last Tu'Nevall and gave birth to a would-be god and a king of sorcery_," Sindel read aloud in a low tone.

"_Lovely_," Ozwulf snorted out in a half grunt.

"Indeed," Sindel nodded, "help me slide this if you are ready my friend."

Ozwulf nodded and placed his gloved hands along the rear edges of the stone lid. Sindel mean while positioned his hands to push from the other end of the stone coffin's lid. With a grunt, the pair began to slide the thin stone lid top off of the coffin below them.

The rotting stench of decay was overpowering.

Sindel turned from the open lid and dry heaved as he turned his head to the side of the open coffin.

"Somethin' be not right 'ere," Ozwulf whispered, gagging back a choke himself.

Inside, Ozwulf could see the skeletal remains of a partial cloth ridden, decaying corpse. Dust and bits of webbing accompanied the sight within, along with the terrible rotting stench that hung heavy in the air.

"This one be dead far too long a time to be makin' up this gale o' a stench," Ozwulf choked out, trying to hold his breath after each word to avoid the horrid rotting smell.

Sindel nodded, forcing himself to push through the wave of foul odor. Sindel looked about the resting place along the bottom of the stone coffin and then scanned over the decrepit body of the old skeleton.

"_There_," Sindel pointed down to the right hand of the skeletal figure, still fighting off the stench of the terrible smell.

Ozwulf looked down and noticed what Sindel was pointing at. It was a small, plain, beaten copper pinky ring that was resting around the knucklebone upon the skeleton's right hand. It looked ancient and tarnished green from the dwarf's vantage. Ozwulf could just make out a standing, embossed copped rune along the top of the pinky ring from where he was at.

"The ring," Ozwulf asked?

"Indeed, tis not right," Sindel whispered back, "that rune is a Tevinter mage mark for fake or false. It is not their house rune and is not of his or Darkmoor's name. My guess would be to try and mess with it. It may show us something else in this stinking rot box."

Ozwulf grinned from ear to ear and then gazed down at the old beaten copper pinky ring.

"Or it could blow us all to the winds I suppose," Sindel added with grin while holding his breath once more.

"Bah," Ozwulf answered, returning his look downward toward the corpse and the pinky ring below.

He stared at the old beaten ring with an intense focus for a moment or two longer. Once he convinced himself it was fairly safe to play with, his dwarven fingers went to work on the ring. Ozwulf pushed, twisted, slid, and poked at the ring until a random half rotating twist seemed to gain the dwarf the effect he was searching for.

_ ~ Click ~_

A creaking squall of a noise followed as a small square section of the stone bottom of the inner coffin's surface fell into a dark false bottom below it, leaving the skeleton's feet to dangle at their knees where the surface had been just moments ago. Below, where the leg bones now dangled, lay a deep shadowy darkness and a rising new wave of rotting stench.

"_Maker's bones_," Ozwulf hissed, turning his head away from the reeking smell wafting up from the dark opening revealed within the secret sliding false bottom of the stone coffin.

"There is a ladder," Sindel pointed out to Ozwulf, fighting back his own gag reflexes once again.

Ozwulf looked to the wall side of the dark opening, furthest from the corpses head, and he could see what Sindel was pointing at. There was an iron rung ladder, positioned against a stone and earth wall that disappeared into the deeper dark and foul unlit stench below.

Sindel grabbed the old beat up lantern near him and raised it, positioning it closer to the opening and the mysterious ladder that disappeared below. The opening was just wide enough for a person to squeeze through and opened into the ceiling of a wider, larger, expanding area about twenty feet below the opening. The ladder seemed to be built into a stone wall and followed all the way down to root covered natural dirt floor below. Little else could be seen as the area below seemed much larger than the small crypt area above it. And it was entirely covered in deep darkness.

"What is it," Dellya whispered out from her peeking position near the stone block entryway of the crypt.

"A secret passage . . . on a false bottom of the stone coffin," Sindel whispered back. "It looks to lead to a larger cellar like soiled area below. There is a ladder here as well leading below."

"Well, what do you think," Sindel asked, turning to Ozwulf.

"Obviously, we be goin' down," the dwarf grinned.

"_Obviously_," Sindel agreed with a smirk.

"_Huzzah_," whispered Dellya with excitement!

"The magic's ye be sensin', ye be thinkin' they be down in this place I be guessin'," Ozwulf asked, turning his attention to the ladder and to the dark larger expanse below.

"_Indeed_," Sindel answered.

"Alright then, let's be havin' a go then," Ozwulf offered, more to himself than to Sindel.

"What do you need of me," Sindel asked?

"Be keepin' the light high an' be at the watch while I be climbin' down," Ozwulf answered.

"Not be needin' any critters rippin' off me feet as I climb down into the dark now, right?"

"Also, be getting' the rope from the lass an' be tiein' it to me lantern. I be wantin' ye to lower it down to me once I be on the solid ground below. Once it be all clear, I be signalin' fer ye or the lad to be comin' down next, so be havin' him at the ready too."

"Right," Sindel replied, keeping the lantern above the hole near the ladder.

Ozwulf inched forward onto the stone lip, removing his crossbow and pack as he did so. He then removed a large dagger from his belt and placed it between his teeth. The dwarf then nodded to Sindel that he was ready and placed his foot down into the passage and onto the first rung of the ladder. As Ozwulf continued to descend, one cautious foot at a time, he slowly made his way through the opening and into the dark expanse below.

"Dellya, lend me your rope and come in a few paces once you have it at the ready," Sindel whispered back towards the entryway, never taking his eyes off the dark room below the crawling dwarf.

Dellya excitedly scrambled through her pack and pulled out her coil of rope. She then crept into the tomb until she was but a few short paces away from Sindel. She offered Sindel the coil of rope, but was surprised when Sindel waved her off.

"Come forward, all the way over here and hold the lantern for a second," Sindel whispered, still watching as Ozwulf was now halfway down the twenty foot ladder and nearing the dirt floor of the chamber below.

"_Acanthus_, be at the ready if needed," Sindel hissed out.

The barbarian leaned into the expanse of the doorway, where Dellya had vacated, and nodded to Sindel in agreement, his large sword drawn and at the ready. Dellya inched closer to Sindel and relieved him of the lantern. The lantern rocked back and forth as Dellya almost lost her handle on it as she was caught looking down the hole instead of giving all of her attention to the hand off with Sindel.

"Watch what you are doing girl," Sindel warned, allowing Dellya to cleanly receive the hand off of the lantern before he released it.

Sindel began uncoiling the length of rope, taking an occasional glance down into the hole below. Ozwulf had now reached the bottom of the old iron ladder, crossbow back in hand and at the ready. The dwarf eased the dagger from his mouth and left it in his right hand while he balanced the large loaded crossbow with his left arm.

"It be larger down 'ere than it be lookin' from above," Ozwulf whispered up towards Sindel and the others.

"I be seein' scrawled pictures an' runes on some o' the stone pieces of wall nearby. I also be seein' some shelving's an' alcoves with bodies an' the like in em'. Guessin' this be more crypts o' some sort. I be ready fer that light now, anytime elf."

Sindel through the slack of rope behind him towards Acanthus and began reaching for the lanterns top to thread the rope around, as he did so, he glanced down again towards Ozwulf. Sindel's eyes went wide as he saw a rush of ground fog, almost like a rolling bank of gray white mist creep forward into the small box of light where the ladders base ended near the standing dwarf. The oncoming rush of wavy mist roiled in at a knee high level to the anxious Ozwulf below.

A low growl now erupted from somewhere deeper in the dark burial chamber below, somewhere from out in front of Ozwulf. The dwarf's crossbow was moving right to left in a wide arc as he shuffled from side to side in jerking half spins.

"Elf, ye be 'earin' an' seein' this," Ozwulf growled out loud.

"_Acanthus_, your needed . . . _quickly_," Sindel called out towards the doorway, dropping his end of the rope and reaching for his thin wooden wand.

_ ~ Click, Chunck ~_

Ozwulf's crossbow sent a whizzing bolt out in front of him and into the darkness surrounding the dwarf. The sound of a stone being thrown hard into thick muddy patch of ground followed, as the bolt made contact with something close by.

A scream followed from Dellya as she watched the scene below begin to explode in shadowy activity. Out of the rolling ground fog near Ozwulf, growls and moans preceded dark forms rushing forth from the edges of the light, as red eyed grasping forms began swarming forth from all directions, clawing for the lone dwarf trapped below.


	14. Chapter 14 - Unrest

**Chapter 14 – Unrest**

Ozwulf looked down at his leather booted feet as the supernatural bank of misty fog rolled forward out of the darkness, covering his legs from the thighs down. One second there was nothing but the dim light of the lantern high above the secret passage and the next, the mysterious mist was pouring in around him from the darkness in front of the dwarf.

Ozwulf stretched his vision all around him and saw nothing but deep darkness. The stench of rotting meat blared forth from this burial place of the dead and the dwarf quickly realized that only his hearing would be of any advantage in the next few moments. Ozwulf thought about trying to pull forth a torch and light it up as quickly as he could. But the idea was quickly pushed aside as he knew he would have to set down both the crossbow in his left hand and most likely the dagger in his right one, just to get his pack off and get the torch and tinder at the ready.

Ozwulf knew that he did not have that much time.

A low growl came from the darkness stretching out in front of the dwarf, where the rolling ground fog had originated from. The sound echoed towards the dwarf like a low bellow from a moaning beast in great pain. Then Ozwulf heard the sound of another moan, another growl, and then the shuffling scuffles of dirt and stone being shuffled against by bone and flesh alike. It seemed to come from all around the lone dwarf as he strained to see anything against the pitch black in front of him.

The first pair of blood red angry dots that blazed out of the darkness in front of Ozwulf appeared next. They were about a foot higher than eye level for the dwarf and although they were far from natural looking, Ozwulf could tell they were a pair of glowing red eyes. Just in front of the red marble sized orbs, at the edge of the shadow and light, Ozwulf noticed a blur of shadowy motion. It was an outstretched, gnarled, rotting flesh covered hand that was tipped in long sharp black talon like finger nails that pierced the ring of dim light.

Ozwulf squeezed the metal trigger of his heavy crossbow and heard the mechanism click and fire. A heavy bolt shot forth from the weapon at a blazing speed and impacted with something just past the outstretched clawed hand that was reaching from the darkness. The red orbs disappeared once more into the darkness as the crossbow bolt slammed into whatever they were a part of.

Ozwulf looked to his left and then to his right. Another reaching black tipped clawed hand was stretching forth at him. Another pair of blazing red dots appeared against the deep dark of the expanse around him, and another, and another. Ozwulf dropped his crossbow to the ground and it disappeared into the foggy mist swirling about his feet before clacking to the soiled ground beneath him. The dwarf pulled forth his short sword from its hip scabbard and set his stance to defend himself the best he could.

"_Bones_ and _dust_," Ozwulf spat to himself, "what we be uncoverin' 'ere?"

The outstretched clawed hand from Ozwulf's left rushed forward into the dim square of light from above. It belonged to a black shriveled undead corpse like creature, which ravenously charged forth towards the dwarf's shoulder. Ozwulf could see its skin was stretched taught, like old leather worn leathery skin on a dried roasted turkey leg. Its entire form was just bone, sinew, and dark stretched leathery pieces. Atop its neck bobbed its dirt stained humanoid skull with sharp fangs resting within its hungry open maw, its red blazing dots for eyes staring forth in a fanatic hungry madness.

Ozwulf let the horrid frenzying thing run forth at him, closing the five or so steps of lit area between him and the darkness in but a mere thought. Ozwulf lowered himself in a blur, angling into a crouched position as the thing collided with him. With a lightning quick strike, Ozwulf slid his sharp steel sword into the things abdomen of leathery tissue while rolling the thing over his lowered back with its own momentum. The creature flew over the dwarf's crouching form and propelled into a second thing rushing forward from the opposite flank. Both undead corpses crashed together in a clatter and tumbled hard into the ground in a pile.

"Alright then," Ozwulf rumbled out in a defiant taunt to the crazed undead things frenzying around him, "ye demons want a taste o' some salty Ozwulf, then . . . _come an' get some_!"

The undead things seemed to answer the taunting challenge as many more poured forth into the awaiting dwarf. They charged in from all angles around the perimeter of the light, each with outstretched talons clawing and tearing towards Ozwulf.

As the many clawed creatures poured in around Ozwulf from all directions, the dwarf noticed that the light from above him began to move. It reminded the dwarf of the sun setting along the horizon, but this came from above. And instead of a natural sun set, which sometimes took the better part of an hour to come to its dark and natural conclusion, this moving light rushed down towards the puzzled Ozwulf in an instant!

The light above him went from a wobbly dim square, to a flatter and brighter presence around him. As it stretched from a square shape a few paces in any direction around the dwarf to a wider arcing flattening area, Ozwulf could hear Dellya screaming something down the ladder hole towards him.

And then there was a flash of exploding light and the shattering sound of breaking glass all around the dwarf.

Ozwulf caught sight of his lantern, like a falling star in the night sky above, crash hard into the biggest cluster of rushing undead corpses near him. It exploded into the head of the lead thing and as glass shattered around the things head, flames burst all about the thing and its nearby allies.

Liquid waves of flame sheathed out coating at least three of the dead things in burning sheets of blue and orange fire. There advance slowed and then stopped as the three things writhed about, dropping to the ground, black smoke and orange light roaring over their leathery bone and skin hides.

"_Me lantern_," Ozwulf moaned, noticing the shattered bits of the old metal and glass thing broken into a thousand pieces around the burning host of creatures.

As the bright light of the exploding lantern quickly dimmed into an orange wave of smoke and burning oil around Ozwulf, the activity above continued. Dellya, still staring from the hole above, said nothing to the moaning Ozwulf's mourning response to the shattered lantern. She was quickly pushed aside, away from the passage opening by a frantic Sindel. Acanthus moved forward, massive steel sword in hand, and pushed his way up to the stone coffin. His large fur trimmed booted feet found the ladder leading below and the large barbarian began to descend.

Black thick tendrils of smoke writhed up around Acanthus from below, covering his vision in parts from the scene around Ozwulf. Acanthus forced himself down another rung or two, trying to hold his breath to avoid taking in the black fumes. Above him, Sindel worked at striking up a torch, barking forth frantic orders to both girls in the crypt above.

Ozwulf roared out in a pain filled screech and a long line of muttered dwarven curses filled the darkening area near the bottom of the ladder. Acanthus felt a bang against the bottom rungs of ladder itself near its base. Acanthus half climbed, half slid down another few sets of rungs to gain a better glance at what was happening below, through the waves of black smoke and the ebbing orange glow of the oil fire that was fading quickly.

An undead thing had charged forth from the darkness behind Ozwulf and latched onto his back, like an unnatural writhing back pack with boney arms and legs. The force had driven Ozwulf, face first, hard into the iron wrung ladder, causing the thud from below. The thing was now tearing into the back of Ozwulf's leather protected neck and shoulders with its long biting jaws and sharp fangs. Blood leaked out from the dwarfs wounded shoulder from just below his hair line and fresh crimson stains coated the creature's boney fanged maw.

A second charging creature rushed forward towards the pressed dwarf's left arm. But Ozwulf saw this corpses charge and met it in the throat with a lunging punch with the dagger in his right hand. The thing moaned as it staggered back, the dagger coming free from the dwarf's hand and staying planted deep within the creature's sinewy throat.

Acanthus could wait no longer to aid his dwarven ally below. He was only a third or so down the twenty foot drop when the barbarian leapt clear of the ladder and plummeted below.

Acanthus crashed into the head and back of the undead thing that was grappling the dwarf from behind. The force and weight from the Avarri's powerful hand stripped the thing off of the dwarf's back and shoved it hard into the hard ground. As Acanthus landed, he nestled the things red dotted head up from his grabbing hand and positioned it as it landed into the space between his massive bicep and armpit.

Acanthus wrenched hard with a powerful twist and a stretching noise followed that sounded like bark being pried off of a pine tree in the woods. A moment more and the things head cracked completely off and tumbled to the ground near Acanthus' fog covered feet. Acanthus could barely see the shadowy form of another one rushing forward towards him from the darkness, as the oily fire had almost burned completely out and darkness began swallowing the companions up.

The corpse thing pressed forward into the Avarri from the darkness, but Acanthus watched the glow that was its red burning eyes. With an arcing two handed swipe from his massive sword, the rushing undead abomination parted down its center as it was cleaved in half from the powerful strike. It shuttered in two half pieces for a moment or two longer in the fog around the barbarian's legs before laying still.

Ozwulf pulled forth another dagger from his belt and spun to the other side of the ladder, forming a defense with Acanthus around the base of the ladder.

"Good ta' . . . be seein' ye . . . lad," Ozwulf coughed in spats, the oily smoke and the attack from the creature, cluttering his voice as he spoke.

A flaming torch now arched and dropped from above. It landed to the right of Ozwulf, about five paces in front of him in the fog darkness of the room. Another dropped near Acanthus, just paces in front of him, followed by a third burning torch arcing from above. The last one pushed further into the dark chamber as it landed. Fiery light mixed from the swirling mist that was the ground fog and bathed the dirt and stone chamber in an eerie orange shadowy glow. The light and shadows danced about in a rhythm, competing for dominance in the area around the pair of adventurers near the bottom of the ladder.

After another moment or two, the fire light from the multiple torches seemed to win out as the ground fog began to fade as quickly as it had arisen and orange flickering light began to fill out the chambers details. Sindel stared out at the chamber below from the hole near the ladders top rung. He could see a charred mess where the three undead creatures had been burned and fused into a single mass by the shattered lantern. There were at least another four or five corpse things bodies resting motionlessly on the ground here and there near the ladders base. Beyond, the room filled out in torch light to reveal more alcove burial niches along the earthen walls of this place and mounds of dirt soil and patches of stone for flooring along the nearby area. The chamber seemed to stretch out to the edges of the torch light where several rounded dirt and root tunnels exited at its opposite side. Each was pitch black with darkness and nothing else moved, for now, in the chamber below.

Sindel began descending from the ladder above and both Dellya and Sayeth followed once there was room to do so. As Sindel finished the climb down, he saw that Acanthus stood at a tense readiness and watched all the shadowy edges of the chamber. Sindel un-slung his pack and looked about for Ozwulf. The dwarf was over at the pile of charred corpses to his right, on bended knee, sifting through blackened shattered glass and any other remains of his old beloved lantern.

Sindel sighed and shook his head at the eccentric dwarf as he approached.

"Are you alright my friend," Sindel asked with concern as he looked over Ozwulf's bleeding back and shoulder.

"Nay elf, me lantern," Ozwulf murmured, still sifting through the pieces of black metal and charred glass at his feet.

"_Really_," Sindel asked?

"Are you hurt Oz," a concerned Dellya asked as she rushed forward from the ladder and over to the prone mumbling dwarf.

"I be ok I be thinkin'," Ozwulf whispered, the adrenalin fading from his muscles, "but me lantern be in dire disrepair. It may be needin' a burial 'ere."

Ozwulf glanced back at Dellya, the one who had thrown the lantern down into the host of undead things from above.

"But, t'was a nice throw lass," Ozwulf said to Dellya, "quick thinkin' an' ye 'ave me thanks Dellie."

Dellya blushed with a smile at the dwarf's compliment.

"An' ye be owin' me a lantern," Ozwulf cursed.

This turned Dellya's grin to a shocked stare of disbelief. Sindel chuckled next to the girl as he pulled out some clean water and bandages from his pack and began cleaning the dwarf's wounded shoulder.

Dellya turned away, shaking her head much as Sindel often did while in the presence of Ozwulf. She murmured several curses under her breath as she walked a few paces away, letting Sindel clean the wound. Acanthus kicked at one of the things on the ground, the one he had snapped the head off of.

"These _things_," Acanthus asked, "what are they?"

"They are the dead, reborn into un-death," Sindel answered, "by the use of foul demon magic."

"_How_ are such things possible," Acanthus whispered, a vile hatred to his tone?

"Not easily for one," Sindel replied.

"You must have a mage, you must have dead host corpses, and you must have demons to fill those hosts with. Even then, the power and magic used to accomplish such things takes time and skill, as well as determination and a risk to your own life. Not to mention your sanity."

"So a _mage_ be 'round then," Ozwulf asked, wincing as the cool water trickled down his exposed wound on his back shoulder.

"Perhaps," Sindel answered.

"A mage could have let loose these demons to these corpses shortly after they died or it could have been done recently. If it was done a hundred years ago, then I doubt the mage is still around down here, although nothing would surprise me from what I have seen of this place so far."

"And the purpose to such ends," Acanthus asked Sindel?

"Insanity . . . chaos . . . _death_," Sindel answered, shaking his head in dismay.

"Demons . . . and mages who consort with them . . . know little else in my own personal experience."

"I have seen these ends, once before, in my travels," Acanthus whispered, looking down at his empty palm where the small leather pouch once rested, securely tied to his hand.

"Fire and flesh, demons and magic, blood and death . . . _how_ . . . _the Mountain Father . . . _allows such things to be in this world . . . such things are beyond my small mind."

Sindel finished cleaning out Ozwulf's wound and put his healer's kit back into his pack. He glanced back towards the ladder to check on Sayeth, who had not moved or spoken a word since she stepped off the ladder down into the room.

"You alright," Sindel asked the pale girl?

Sayeth nodded, signaling she was and Sindel left his concern at that confirmation. Ozwulf stood back up, searching about for any weapons that needed to be reclaimed. After that, the dwarf picked up his crossbow near Sayeth's foot and began to reload it. Sindel scanned the walls of the dirt and stone burial chamber and again noticed scrawled runes, glyphs, and drawing etched here and there.

"More runes," Sindel pointed.

"Let's have a look shall we?"

Sindel advanced deeper into the chamber and in to his right, picking up a torch off of the ground as he made his way to the rune filled wall nearby. Acanthus and Ozwulf advanced down the center of the burial chamber. The Avarri did as Sindel had done, picking up a torch as he went, while Ozwulf left the one he passed by for Dellya or Sayeth.

"I be makin' out three tunnel ways ahead," Ozwulf whispered, pointing towards the far end of the chamber with his crossbow's tip.

"Acanthus, Dellya, ye be watchin' those tunnel ways while I be searchin' 'bout for a moment or two. Sayeth lass, be takin' up that last torch an' be aidin' the elf with the translatin' o' these runes an' such."

"_Foul_," Sindel hissed.

"It appears these were Lord Darkmoor's servants, workers, and anyone else associated with his lands that were not of his noble blood. Although I am not sure why they are down here and when he would have buried them here?"

"He _murdered_ them all," Sayeth whispered, reading over the lines of Tevinter markings along the other side of the wall of alcove bodies.

"What," Sindel asked?

"He wrote that he murdered them all and then cursed them, after the death of his daughter, _Sissal_ _Darkmoor_," Sayeth said.

"He writes that one of the servants turned her in, for practicing _Apostate_ magic, to a Templar knight that was visiting from nearby lands. The Templar had heard rumors of the family and its strangeness before, but acted on the newly witnessed report. This appears to have led to a confrontation between the Templar knight and the woman, _Sissal_, which in turn led to a fight in which she was killed. It looks like it happened while Lord Darkmoor was far away, on personal business or something."

"When he returned, Darkmoor flew into a wild anger, a rage unseen before. One of the grand children, a daughter of Sissal's, witnessed it all and told Darkmoor what had happened and of the servant's betrayal. Darkmoor gathered up all of them, anyone not of his blood relation, and burned them all alive. He then brought their bodies here and cursed them for their entire afterlife for their betrayal."

"I be guessin' that this may 'ave sparked the later visit from the Chantry an' the Templar's that be finishin' him off eh," Ozwulf said as he walked over towards Sindel, who was turned listening to Sayeth finish her reading of the runes upon the wall.

"This 'ere what ye be sensin' earlier," Ozwulf asked Sindel as he tossed the elf something small in the air.

A small softly glowing glass vial of azure liquid landed in Sindel's open right hand. The vial was sealed with a stopper atop its crystalline frame and the blue liquid that sloshed within sparkled with glowing shimmers of magical energy.

"_Lyrium_," Sindel exclaimed?!

"So it t'would be seemin'," Ozwulf answered.

"Where," Sindel asked excitedly, "did you find it?"

"T'was bein' buried in one o' the piles o' bones in an alcove, stuffed away in rags towards the back o' its dirt cubby. Noticed a shimmer o' blue glow from the corner o' me eye an' found it within."

"I be seein' 'nough raw an' liquid lyrium to be knowin' it when I be seein' it. Be figurin' that be what ye magic's sensed from above an' be figurin' ye be happy to be seein' such a thing 'gain."

"_Indeed_," Sindel blushed excitedly, tucking the vial away into his belt pouch with a beaming grin.

Ozwulf spun back around to join Acanthus near the open tunnels at the far end of the room but was surprised to see Sayeth next to him as he spun around. The girl had been across the room reading runes from the opposite wall not but seconds ago.

"_Lyrium_," Sayeth whispered, "What does it do, for mages I mean? I have heard tales and rumors, but I wish to know Sindel."

"It is the raw, pure form, of magic Sayeth," Sindel replied.

"Bottled up and rationed out in liquid form for consumption. That is the best way I can describe it."

"So you have had it before then," Sayeth probed?

"_Indeed_."

"I have heard that Templar's are given it and that it grants them powers to fight mages or resist their magic's, is that true," Sayeth questioned?

"Yes," Sindel answered.

"And I have also heard that it is . . . _addictive_?"

"_Indeed_," Sindel again whispered, his eyes shifting to his feet as he answered.

"The feeling is a rush of power to a mage," Sindel added.

"Like a thousand magic suns washing over your body, charging your spirit, your essence full of energy and power. _Intoxicating_ . . . _vibrant _. . . _raw_ . . . . _pulsing_ . . . _power _. . . it is not like anything else I have ever felt, even visiting _the Fade_ seems a lesser feeling than one of drinking pure lyrium."

"And it is a very _rare_ find, with the Chantry's use of it, mage's desire for it, and dwarves crafting with it. It fetches a steep price when sold, which is even rarer than finding it."

"Amazing," Sayeth whispered, her eyes staring dreamily towards Sindel's whispered explanation.

"_Humph_," Ozwulf snorted, moving passed Sayeth as he did so.

Ozwulf moved forward up to where Acanthus and Dellya were keeping guard at the far end of the room, near the open rounded tunnels leading out from this chamber.

"What ye two be thinkin'," Ozwulf whispered as he moved up taking up a position between the two companions that were staring at the tunnels ahead.

"This one, to our right, I think it may be a dead end," Dellya offered.

Dellya quietly moved up another pace or two towards the tunnel opening and tossed her flaming torch forward into the tunnel way. It landed about ten paces inside and revealed what Dellya had guessed was true. The tunnel had collapsed no more than a dozen paces or so beyond the flickering torch upon the ground.

"An' ye lad," Ozwulf asked Acanthus?

"I do not sense we are so lucky with these other two," Acanthus offered to the dwarf.

"They are both deeper and slope down it would seem," Acanthus said, pointing his torch towards the earth and stone floor of both tunnel ways that lead beyond.

"And I can hear no noise and I can smell no clean air from either dark place."

Sindel and Sayeth joined the others, walking up cautiously to the far end of the chamber. Ozwulf stared at the gently sloping tunnel ways in front of the companions. The dwarf sniffed the air for a second and then peered deep into the darkness within each tunnel.

"The lad be right," Ozwulf whispered.

"Both be goin' deeper an' be continuin' to the unknown. I not be likin' it one bit. _Dangerous_ to be sure."

"_But_," Sindel added?

"_But_, the lore be getting' better the deeper we be explorin' an' if I were to be hidin' some magic stones that I be thiefin', them stones might be somewhere deeper under this foul place, guarded by me hoards o' undead angry demon filled monster things."

"So, me _gut _be tellin' me we be on the right trail 'ere."

"Right or left," Dellya asked, "which does ye gut set ye towards Ser dwarf?"

"_Left_ lass, always _left_," the dwarf answered.

Ozwulf advanced forward into the left tunnel, crossbow at the ready, moving in a crouch as quietly as a moving shadow against a cavern wall.

"Be givin' me five paces or so start, then follow at me pacin', an' be as soft an' quiet as ye can."

The others nodded and let the dwarf move forwards, into the shadowy darkness at the edge of the light, as he instructed. The tunnel was not large enough for the companions to advance as a group, so they formed a single file line as they quietly moved in, following the dwarf's lead. Acanthus was second, followed by Dellya, with her bow knocked and at her ready. After her, came Sindel, his wand in one hand, a torch in the other, and finally, taking up the rear position was the quiet young woman with the green dragon tattoo on her arm.

Ozwulf continued ahead through the sloping earthen tunnel for several hundred, slow, methodical, creeping paces, as the tunnel way wound forward in several small twists and turns like a serpent. It never widened or grew and remained void of any off shoots as the dwarf cautiously stalked ahead forward, ever forward into the darkness. It was then that the path ahead changed from its soil and hanging root décor to something different. Ozwulf stopped as the pathway ahead changed abruptly from worn dirt to cut stone blocks and stone flooring.

Ozwulf eyed the change here and ahead where the dim light stretched out in front of the dwarf. The tunnel seemed to open into a larger chamber ahead and the stone appeared very old to the dwarf. It looked detailed, worked by crafters hand and tool, if the dwarf was not mistaken. Ozwulf's companions now crept up behind him and light spilled out into the new chamber, past the crouched motionless dwarf.

"What is this," Acanthus whispered down towards Ozwulf?

"It be 'nother crypt, like the ones we be findin' above, if I be hittin' me mark."

"A secret underground crypt then, hidden through a burrow of cursed corpses, beneath a land filled with old crypts," Dellya asked?

"Seems clumsy to me," she added.

"Not at all lass," Ozwulf countered, "We dwarves 'ave been buildin' 'em similar fer generations now."

"Be makin' good sense when ye be buryin' ye dead fer hundreds o' years, in what be the same areas time an' 'gain, an' each new group o' dead ye be buryin' be comin' at different years an' the like. Ye may be havin' one family set on one deep area o' mud an' rock, then fifty years pass an' ye find ye self diggin' deeper an' longer, an' so forth."

"Oh, I had not considered that," Dellya whispered.

"You know, some of us can only see hanging roots and Acanthus' large back side back here," Sindel hissed quietly from behind Dellya.

"And you know I hate tunnels such as these, so please, if you don't mind . . ," Sindel said, leaving the last part of his statement unfinished.

Ozwulf moved forward, Acanthus right behind him, as they both stepped out into the taller, stone worked, shadowy chamber in front of them. The chamber was high, at least three times Acanthus' height to its stony cut and formed ceiling above. It was easily twice this much in width, leaving plenty of room for all the companions to file in and spread out around the old stone chamber.

As torch light filled this newly found place, everyone glanced towards the chambers center area, where a stone mausoleum stood defiantly in sculpted silence.

The heroes could see that the small stone building was narrow only half as tall as the chamber. Its exterior walls were carved in images of beautiful craftsmanship where stone knights upon armored horses did glorious battle against demons of all shapes and sizes. There appeared to be no stone block door to grant entrance into the small stone house, but instead, an archway allowed open entry to the dark hollow within it. It was very different than the tightly sealed and closed up crypts the companions had found above ground earlier in the day. Sindel and Sayeth both noticed the small stone crypt had lines of runic text and more than a few symbols etched and scrawled all over it. Some appeared as exotic, while others were more familiar to the pair of curious adventurers.

"By the _Great Wolf_," Sindel whispered to himself, as he stared at one such rune that was proudly displayed over the center of the open crypt archway.

"_The Maker_," Acanthus whispered in reverence.

"Ye be real close lad," Ozwulf whispered, "tis _the Chantry's_ own markin', well known to all, that be fer sure. This be the restin' place of a _Knight Templar_ of the great Ferelden Order."

All stood in awe of the discovery for another long moment, taking in the spectacle that was the elaborate old stone burial house and its many details. None of the companions could put into words the many questions that this out of place thing represented or how it fit into this mystery that their quest had shifted into.

"Well, let's be havin' a look eh," Ozwulf whispered out to break the silence.

"Sindel, be checkin' fer magic. Sayeth, the runes if ye will. Acanthus, to the left lad, Dellya, ye be stickin' with me to the right. No one's to be enterin' inside til we be sure we be alone 'ere an' til I be makin' sure it be safe to be anywhere near that there stone box."

Dellya and Ozwulf crept along the half circle around the stone mausoleum to its right, watching as Acanthus did the same to the left on the opposite side. The chamber formed a rectangle around the stone crypt housing and the three companions quickly circled around and met on the other side, to the crypts rear. There were apparently no other exits from this stone worked room as the back side of the chamber was nothing but cut stone and a couple of bug eaten tapestries that looked decades old from their appearance.

"We may have a problem," Sindel whispered, still in front of the mausoleum, as he had not advanced as the others had done a few moments ago.

"What be the matter elf," Ozwulf asked in a echoed whisper as he made his way back towards the front of the structure?

"The presence, the magic or . . . the ward, or whatever it is . . . the same one I felt from above when we first arrived. The thing, that was forcing my probing magic's back away from it, it's _here_."

"Here, _'ere_, like somethin' is 'ere, next ta me, or 'ere, as in, the magic be 'ere?"

"What? Never mind . . . the magic, its source is here," Sindel replied.

"Whatever ward defies my aura and senses, was originally cast upon this crypt. It emanates forth in a powerful presence even now. It prevents my presence from peeking at magical things around us, or things from or of _the Fade_ for that matter."

"Hmm, be it dangerous," Ozwulf asked?

"Uhm, no, I don't think so," Sindel replied.

"More like a very thick set of curtains preventing you from seeing within a cottage window. And curtains you cannot reach or touch to move aside, even if you wished to do so. But, with that said, I do not believe them to be . . . dangerous curtains."

"Bah', crazy elf. Me gut be tellin' me we be comin' up lucky findin' this place," Ozwulf whispered excitedly.

"I be feelin' like to me, that someone be o' the mind to be hidin' somethin', in a secret crypt tucked away in the dark, marked o' the Chantry, with magic's that push away the pryin' eyes o' mages an' the like from seein' somethin' magical that be hidden within' . . ."

"_By the dark flock_," Acanthus whispered, "you think, _the Eyes_, you believe they may be hidden here, as the Sister hoped?"

"_Eyes_," Sayeth echoed quizzically from her perch, poking her head about from the side of the crypt where she had been reading the old Tevinter markings around the base of the exterior wall?

Ozwulf shot Acanthus a sideways scowl and turned away from Sayeth's inquisitive look. The big warrior glanced down while muttering something under his breath, cursing his loose thoughts and looser tongue.

"Never ye mind 'bout that lass. Stay to ye task an' be not worryin' 'bout such things that not be pertainin' to ye."

Ozwulf turned and paced back over towards the crypt wall where Sayeth was standing. He stopped when he was close enough to the wall to inspect it himself and began eyeing the many lines of runic markings along the wall next to Sayeth.

"Now be tellin' me what these 'ere rune lines be sayin' 'bout this tomb? This place be the true mystery 'ere. Do these still be in the same hand as the one be above?"

Sayeth ignored the dwarf's blatant change of topic for now and returned to the runes in front of her. She glanced over at Sindel, who was inspecting some of the runes on the same wall as she was, but further down to the other end of the wall.

"Yes, they are still in Tevinter empirical marks, many of them, mage hand," Sayeth answered.

"This burial tomb appears to be the resting place of _Ser Tithian_ Tu'Navall, if you believe the text."

"Ah ha, now there be a new name eh? What be his relation to the infamous _Lord Darkmoor_," Ozwulf asked.

"He appeared to be Lord Darkmoor's grandfather I believe, Abarus' father," Sayeth answered.

"Interesting," Sindel added.

"I am guessing that he was one of the first of this house to earn the noble title of Knight, probably sometime after becoming a Templar for the Chantry. I wonder if he was trying to lead his family down a better path or if it was just a cover, to hide their . . . _other dealings_."

"A _Templar_, amongst a family of _Apostate_ mages and slavers," Dellya questioned?

"There is definitely something peculiar about that bit of family history."

Sayeth moved down the length of the stone wall, continuing to read line after line to herself as she went. Sindel took a step back and raised his torch to allow the girl a better view of his area of the wall.

"It reads here, that it was no ruse . . . he was a great Templar Knight of the Chantry and a great servant to the people of Ferelden," Sayeth revealed.

"This was not well received by his family or the business partners of House Tu'Navall."

"I be guessin' not," Ozwulf snorted.

"Be not many amongst the Ferelden Templar order that be too fond o' slavery fer profit or mages without the Circles stamp o' approval."

"Ser Tithian served the Templar Order honorably for over two decades it would seem," Sayeth continued.

"He was known amongst the Brotherhood for his fearless bravery against _Demons_ in particular and by his uncanny ability to track demon bound Abomination mages down."

"_Abomination hunter_," Acanthus asked? "I did not know such things existed."

"A rare _niche_ of the Brotherhood," Sindel said flatly, "I am sure."

"When Tithian's son, Abarus, grew of age, it was determined that the young man was magic born and Ser Tithian sent him to school with the Mages Circle of Ferelden. But, Abarus ran away shortly after he entered the Circle and was not seen again for some time, living the life of an _Apostate_ on the run."

"Ser Tithian was crushed by this in spirit, later retiring from the ranks of active duty with the Templars. It reads that he spent his last years, here, on his families lands, trying to mend fences with his ken in hopes it would bring back his son Abarus, to his arms."

Dellya turned away, trying to hide the emotion creeping up upon her youthful face. Sindel and Ozwulf both noticed this and could see how close the tale had hit home to her own personal conflicts with her father. Ozwulf turned back to Sayeth, a pensive look washing over him and he stared at the wall of runes near her.

"So, me question be then, why 'ere an' what did Darkmoor be thinkin' of his gran' pap's little legacy? An' why this 'ere elaborate little burial house with the magic wards 'bout it? Anythin' on those bits lass?"

Sayeth scanned the wall all about and then moved to the rear of the tomb and continued her study of the Tevinter rune marks there.

"It reads that Lord Darkmoor hated his grandfather, Ser Tithian. But, that Lord Darkmoor respected his decisiveness, willpower, and conviction to his chosen path. For that, Darkmoor built this tomb to house his remains."

"There is also something here about something called, _the Steelfire Shroud_," Sayeth read, stopping short with a questioning look?

"Sindel, what is this mark," Sayeth asked, pointing to a particular line of runic text.

Sindel made his way to the rear of the stone mausoleum and stared down at the etched line that Sayeth pointed to. He moved his torch in closer for a better look at the markings and read them over to the best of his ability.

"Ah, that it the rune for an _Artifact_," Sindel answered, his eyes going wide as he did so.

"The Tevinter mage hand for such things reads as a magical thing of permanence with a set and singular purpose in this world, a loose translation. The short version would be, _an Artifact_."

Sindel continued reading the runes below the line that Sayeth had been stuck on and his excitement grew with each new line, although he seemed to get stuck on several of the marks as he went. Each time, he would whisper over to Sayeth to gain a quick check on what he was reading. Sensing the excitement in Sindel's voice, the others began to creep in closer and closer to Sindel as he continued to read, waiting for a translation of the runes.

"An artifact_ sword_," Sindel whispered out in awe.

"The _Steelfire Shroud_ was Ser Tithian's _artifact sword_. Created long ago by an unknown crafter of the Templar legion, its single set purpose was the hunting and destroying of _Demons_. It was awarded to Ser Tithian by a grand Commander of the Templar's after a particularly gruesome mission that Ser Tithian completed."

A chorus of different whispered oaths to different gods and other higher powers blended together from the companions all at once as each of them considered what Sindel had just revealed.

"Did you see _this_," Sayeth asked Sindel, pointing to another few marks on the line above the one he had been reading from.

Sindel quickly re-read the end of the line of runes above the one he had just read from. His eyes went over it again and again, each time getting hung once again on several of the strange runes. Sindel pointed out one such mark to Sayeth with a quizzical look on his face.

"Does this mean curse or stopped or barrier," Sindel asked Sayeth?

"You are close Sindel elf," Sayeth teased, "it means _untouchable_ in that particular order of phrasing."

Sindel again went over the lines of runes with the new translation provided by Sayeth and again his eyes opened wide at the revelation in what he had just read.

"_Oh my_," Sindel gasped.

"Yes, quite amazing isn't it," Sayeth agreed.

"Well, be puttin' a hook out in the stream fer all us trout that be floatin' 'ere with our mouths agape eh," Ozwulf grumbled, "waitin' fer what be so tantilizin' to ye both. Please . . . _do tell_?"

"The sword is _here_, with Ser Tithian's remains, in the crypt there," Sindel pointed to the stone mausoleum next to him.

"Bah, _guesses an' crows_! How ye be knowin' that elf," Ozwulf questioned?

"Lord Darkmoor tried to have the sword destroyed and also tried to have others take it away, from the knight's grasp, but to no avail," Sindel replied.

"The sword cannot be handled by any of a mages bloodline. And to be exact, any of a mage's bloodline that tried to handle the blade, was hurt severely by the blade itself, perhaps even_ killed_ outright. Or so the marks warn."

"Hmm, that be an' interestin' bit o' magic," Ozwulf whispered. "That be takin' ye an' the pale lass out o' the draw fer straws eh?"

"What," Dellya whispered sharply? "Ye are thinking of _stealing_ it? From a dead Knight Templar even? _Why_?"

"We been o'er this once already lass," Ozwulf replied, shooting Dellya a stern glance.

"That there blade, if it be in that there tomb, an' can be had, be worth ten or a hundred times its weight to us in coin. An' better yet, it already be havin' a buyer lined up, in our little Sister o' the Chantry. Who I be sure be havin' tons o' contacts with the Templars who be payin' a steep reward for such lost prizes."

Dellya looked like she was about to argue the point with the stubborn dwarf, but was interrupted by Acanthus.

"Might . . . we _keep_ it," Acanthus asked quietly?

"Ye be meanin', while we be 'ere, lookin' 'bout in this place, fer the lore the Sister be wantin'?"

"Aye, its power would surely be wicked against such things as those undead demon corpses that attacked us in the other chamber, right," Acanthus answered?

"But perhaps, keep it beyond this place as well," Acanthus finished.

"Now that _is_ an interesting thought," Sindel piped in.

"What ye be wantin' in a Templar artifact made to be huntin' out an' seekin' the 'eads o' demons fer lad?"

Acanthus looked down at his palm, where the leather corded pouch once resided and then looked back up at Ozwulf, a fiery determination set in his eyes.

"Such a weapon as this, could find opportunity, to make good upon its promises of creation, in hands such as . . . ours," Acanthus answered sternly.

"Oh, that sounds like fun," Sindel whispered, a sarcastically devilish smile creeping across his face as he looked over towards Ozwulf.

"Stow it, elf," Ozwulf barked.

"_Cart before ye horse_, to ye all I be sayin'," Ozwulf spat. "We be getting' this blade, _if_ we can be doin' such things. Then, we gettin' what the Sister be payin' us to be 'ere fer. Then, that all be said an' done, we can be debatin' what to be doin' with the loot, sword included, once we all be safe an' sound, some where's else."

"Be soundin' fair," Ozwulf asked, trying his best to calm himself as he spoke?

None of the companions offered any debate to the dwarf and after a moment, Ozwulf moved around the open archway in the front of the small mausoleum.

"Alright then, we be needin' a volunteer," Ozwulf whispered, "an' no one that be a mage or that be havin' a mage in their family tree then."

"Let's be gettin' ourselves an artifact."


	15. Chapter 15 - Red

**Chapter 15 – Red**

A knock came in rapid successions upon the cottages small wooden front door. Sister Plyasenth glanced up at the noise that broke the silence of her quiet reading within her living room. She put her tome down and stared over at the nearby window to her left. It was quite dark outside, in the surrounding woods, at least an hour or more past sunset.

The short peppering of hard knocks rattled off again, against the cottage's front door. Plyasenth collected a small shiny item from the small wooden table near her chair and crossed the room.

"Yes," she called out from behind the closed door?

There was a pause and some movement now beyond the closed door. Plyasenth could hear a small shuffling of feet in the dirt outside and then silence once more.

"_It is the color of life and the color of death_, my lady" a deep muffled voice offered back through the closed door. The voice carried the heavy accent of an Antivan man, with deep dramatic pauses here and there throughout the strange and short little announcement.

Sister Plyasenth smiled a thin approving smile at the voice and what it had offered and quickly unbolted the door's lock. She opened the door and peeked outside into the dark forested area around the porch.

A pair of cloaked and hooded figures stood outside, a few feet away from the now partially cracked open cottage door. Both were steeped in dark colored wool cloaks, their hoods pulled up over their heads, and both wore dried levels of mud upon their well-worn high leather boots. The hooded figure nearest to Plyasenth was easily a foot taller than the cloaked figure behind him. Both figures were outfitted with an adornment of weapons strapped to them ranging from swords, to knives, to other more exotic looking arrays.

"The color is . . . _red_," Plyasenth purred as she stared at the two figures a moment longer.

"So it is," the tall lead figure offered with a short bow of his head.

"Do come in my friend, your visit is not entirely unexpected," the Sister offered.

The tall nodded again and stepped inside the cottage through the front door. After a step or two inside, the man paused and turned back towards the open door and his awaiting companion, who had not moved an inch since the Sister had opened the front door.

"Gorbin," the tall man commanded, "wait out here and ensure we are not disturbed. I will not be long."

The second man nodded at the order and moved out of the cottage's door light and into the shadows surrounding the house. Plyasenth closed the door and followed the tall man inside.

"Can I offer you anything _Thorne_," the Sister asked?

"My thanks Plyasenth, but I am fine and will not be staying long," the man replied, removing his hood as he turned to watch the Sister move back to her nearby chair and take a seat. A small cup of steaming tea rested on the nearby table near the tome she had been reading.

"I hope that all is well with my favorite Chantry maiden of Loggerswald?"

Plyasenth stared at the tall man's face, remembering its unusual features from their previous meetings. The man's skin was color of pale ash, like the warm gray dusty remains of a burned out camp fire the morning after it was left unattended. He was cleanly shaved, including his polished bald head, which showed off his muscular angled jawline and framed his dark black eye brows. His eyes were a piercing black set of jewels set high on his head and finished off his very foreign and exotic appearance. And although the tall man's accent was heavily steeped in Antivan origins, he looked far from any Antivan.

"Well enough," the Sister answered.

"And for you good Thorne," she asked?

"Is all well with your Duchess and her Red Keep?"

"_Well enough_," Thorne replied coyly, offering the hint of smile as he said it.

Thorne unslung a small leather pack that he had tied under his cloak to his left shoulder and tossed it over onto the floor at Plyasenth's feet. It jangled with the sound of bound coin and something heavier as it hit the floor neat to Plyasenth.

"Another offering to you and your . . . _friend_," Thorne said.

Plyasenth pulled the leather pack closer to her and unbuckled several straps upon it. She then rummaged through it like an excited child receiving a present. She pulled out a thick leather bound pouch of clinking coins and moved it to the table near her steaming tea. Her interest clearly did not rest in such things as she immediately poured back into the pack with both hands moments later.

The next thing to be pulled out of the leather pack was a pair of leathered old tomes, one bound in black reptile skin and the other, twice the black ones size, that seemed so weathered at its binding, it could have collapsed into dust at any moment. Plyasenth took great care with both tomes, resting them each in her lap for closer inspection.

"Oh my, what have we here my friend," Plyasenth whispered to Thorne?

"The smaller one is the one you asked for," Thorne grinned, "a journal compiled by several of our best scouts from the Keep."

"It has maps and notes on all of the routes, both known and not known, from here to the lands north of this region. River channels, game trails, paths, and major trade ways moving north from Loggerswald up to Amaranthine and all the way to the coast, along the northern reaches of Ferelden."

"You will notice the mark of the Red Hawk, our sigil, where you would find friendly agents and welcome homes along the way, if you were so inclined or in need," Thorne continued.

"I am in your debt," Plyasenth complimented Thorne as she fingered through the black skinned thinner tome.

"My guild and I are pleased to hear that, I assure you," Thorne offered.

"And this other, very old, very worn tome," Plyasenth added?

"A gift," Thorne answered with a slight bow.

"Something I thought might interest you, personally, after our last conversation."

Plyasenth carefully opened up the aged old tome and gently fingered through the first few pages of the old text. Her eyes grew wide with every new image and rune she took in. A thin smile crept along her narrow jawline as she looked back up at Thorne.

"Oh my," she purred, "I am afraid you are beginning to know me all too well master Thorne."

Thorne returned the affectionate compliment with a thin smile of his own, knowing his gift had hit its mark.

"It is from the Duchess' personal archives," Thorne promised, "a volume she will not miss, I assure you. She has plenty in her library at the Keep."

"_Blood magic_ incantations and rituals seem to be all that she collects these days in that library. It should be interesting reading for you, while your seeds continue to sprout and grow."

Plyasenth looked closed the old tome, her smile still leaking out from her face as she noticed something else within the leather pack upon the floor. It appeared to be something still remaining at the bottom of the pack that she had not noticed. She bent over and picked up the remaining item.

As she held it up in her fingers and into the light of the nearby candle arrangement on her table, Plyasenth could see it was a blood red jewel the size of almond and it was encased in a glass see through case about the size of a woman's palm. Plyasenth stared at the thousands of sparkling flames the gem gave off from its many cut facets upon its small exterior.

"Exquisite Thorne," Plyasenth said, staring at the jewel and its case.

"But, what . . ?"

"Tis no bauble my lady Plyasenth, I assure you," Thorne replied.

"Although it is a pretty little thing and worth much in gold and silver if it was to be sold, but it has more of a unique purpose. One that I think you will like and that may be of great value to you in your future plans."

"Oh, I see, do tell," Plyasenth prodded, her curiosity peaking as she stared at the beautiful red gemstone in the little glass carrying case.

"Of course, let me show you," Thorne answered, pulling up a chair from the nearby dining table and sliding it closer to the Sister.

"I believe you will enjoy this."

...


	16. Chapter 16 - Intruders

**Chapter 16 – Intruders**

"I will go," Acanthus stepped forward, his face brimming with confidence.

"There are no spirit talker's in my family that I know of and I would like to see such a weapon in our ranks."

"Very well then lad," Ozwulf nodded, stepping aside from the stone archway opening and allowing Acanthus a clear view to the dark area within.

Acanthus peered inside the small stone house. The archway was narrow in front of him and as torchlight spilled inside, he could see a stone rectangular sarcophagus built into a raised stone foundation about fifteen paces in front of him. He also could see that the walls were etched and chiseled with dozens of runic symbols and lines of markings, much like the outside of the crypt. The stone sarcophagus lid appeared etched in the form of a stone knight, dressed in elaborate heavy armor, his arms folded, grasping a long blade held tightly to his chest.

Acanthus took one last deep breath, re-gripped his blade, and began to duck into the small stone house.

"_Wha_ . . . be holdin' on a sec lad," Ozwulf hissed, clutching the big warrior's chain links on his back shoulder.

Acanthus stopped and glanced down at the frazzled dwarf, staring at him with wide eyed confusion.

"Were ye jus' goin' to be rushin' in then, no instruction, no advise, no thinkin'," Ozwulf chided?

"Apologies Oz," Acanthus blushed, "I was caught up in the moment, I guess. What should I know before I enter, my friend?"

"Well . . ," Ozwulf paused, staring at the warrior for a second, "I would . . . mos' likely, uhm, try an' . . ."

"Yes, _do go on_," Sindel interrupted, "this should be a lesson we all are to learn."

"_Shut it elf_," Ozwulf snapped back, losing his train of thought.

"_Bah_! Go on then lad, jus' be careful tis all," the dwarf stammered out, avoiding eye contact with the others.

Sindel held his breath as not to explode with laughter while Acanthus just shrugged and reset himself for a final look inside the small crypt before entering. Ozwulf shot an angry scowl at Sindel, ending his half-heartedly contained chuckling.

Acanthus stepped in and made his way over to the stone tomb. He saw that there was a thick layer of dust resting upon the floor, on the base of the sarcophagus, as well as on the lid of the heavy looking stone box. Now that he was in the small chamber, he felt foolish having the large sword in hand as he would be hard pressed to swing it with any real motion in such a confined area, if the need presented itself.

The warrior crouched down near the base of the stone coffin and sheathed his sword over his back. He reached for his hatchet from his belt and immediately felt better with the smaller weapon in hand.

"Be lookin' 'round the stone lid o' the thing, all four corners o' it an' 'long its cut line at its edges," Ozwulf whispered into the small area from the open archway.

"Alright," Acanthus whispered back, "what would I be looking for exactly Oz?"

"Ye be wantin' to see if any small grooves or holes be cut or forced into the stone work, as if they not be belongin'," Ozwulf answered.

"Also, be checkin' fer secondary hinges, hollow slab points, small wires or pieces of metal where there should be only stone an' . . ."

Ozwulf stopped his directions as he could see Acanthus' eyes going wide and were glazing over at the many different technical notations the dwarf had just thrown his way.

"Jus' be seein' if anything be lookin' out o' sorts or not lad, 'specially where ye be 'bout to be puttin' ye hands an' fingers," the dwarf said.

Acanthus let out a huge sigh and looked down at the stone coffin. With his free left hand, the warrior slid his fingers around the perimeter of the stone grooved lid that the top rested upon. His fingering began leaving a ringed mark where the layer of dust smeared off as he traced around the stone lip. Acanthus felt nothing out of the ordinary with the lid's resting place. He placed his hatchet upon the coffins stone embossed surface and prepared to push it with both of his large hands.

With a sliding grinding shift, the stone coffin lid pushed to the side until it rested at an angle away from Acanthus. The barbarian looked down into the stone container and saw that it was filled with the remains of a long dead warrior.

The knight's remains were a mix of rusted aged heavy armor, tattered dust covered cloth remnants, old weathered browning bones, and a beautiful sword, gripped in the skeleton's dead arms. The knight's pose was not much different than the embossed etched carving that was displayed on the top of the stone lid.

"What ye be seein' lad," Ozwulf asked, excitement awash over his bearded face?

"It is here, _the great weapon_, amidst the warrior's remains," Acanthus answered, a reverent tone layering the warrior's words.

"Tis a blade of a Thane, no, a blade of _Hakkon Wintersbreath_ himself . . ."

"Well that sounds nice," Sindel grinned.

"Can I touch it, should I . . ," Acanthus asked, glancing back at the lit opening where Ozwulf and the others stared in?

All eyes shifted down toward Ozwulf and for a long second, there was no noise and no response from the dwarf.

"_Aye_, be grabbin' it carefully an' be bringin' it back out to us," Ozwulf offered.

"_Makers bones, don' be lettin' the lads arms be meltin' off or any such nonsense_," Ozwulf whispered to himself under his breath.

Acanthus pried the folded armored arms away from the beautiful sword, one by one, taking great care as he did so. After each touch of the skeletal warrior, the others could hear Acanthus whisper a prayer of his own beneath his breath to his Avarri gods. Acanthus reached forth and grabbed the blades hilt with his left hand and drew it forth from the sarcophagus.

Acanthus crept slowly out of the cairn and ducked once more under the stone archway until he was again outside, rejoining the others, sword in hand.

"Be it the _true_ thing elf," Ozwulf asked Sindel as they all stared at the shining blade, reflecting light from the nearby torches.

Sindel was lost in thought and sense even as the dwarf asked him the question. His eyes took in the silver polished long blade of the sword, including the elaborate Templar ruin marks carefully etched along the silver folded sharp metal. The hilt was layered metals, both steel and gold, interlaced upon each other, with several large topaz gemstones sparkling along the cross section of the blades fine hilt. The pommel was wrapped in exquisite leather working and ended in a crafted symbol of _the Maker_ at its end. As Acanthus had defined it earlier, the blade looked the part as if it were made for a king or someone of an even higher station.

The blades beautiful craftsmanship aside, Sindel could feel the raw power bubbling up from the sword now that it was removed from the stone tomb's wards and present here in front of him. There was no mistaking the bountiful power of the great artifact just a few feet from his face.

"I think I may _cry_," Sindel breathed out, a smile growing on his elven face.

"_Hah_," Ozwulf chuckled, jubilant from Sindel's confirmation about the weapon.

"Does it," Dellya began, "feel different, I mean, different than a normal sword?"

"_Much_," Acanthus replied.

"It is _light_, like a blade half its size. Its balance is like nothing I have ever held, well beyond my people's best craft I believe. And in my grip, I feel something, in my hands and down my arm when I hold it. It is like I have touched a bolt of lightning from the skies of a storm."

"The runes mark it as we had guessed," Sayeth added, her eyes perusing the blades many silvered etchings along the core of the blade itself.

"It is, _the Steelfire Shroud_, Ser Tithian's blade of demon and abomination hunting, a fabled gift of the Templar order of Ferelden from generations long past. A prize I suppose, _if_ you like skewering mages."

Sayeth turned and walked back away from the group, her pointed words had soured the moment. Sindel wrinkled his nose at the thought Sayeth had just left him with and the sword's beauty faded a bit in his eyes as he imagined all the mage blood it had spilled over its lifetime, both demon filled and innocent alike.

"Well, we be lucky to be havin' it 'ere in our hands an' this all be of good boon fer us as we may jus' be touchin' the tip o' the spear o' this place, so to be speakin'," Ozwulf said.

"Lad, be carryin' the blade fer us if'n ye do na mind."

"Of course," Acanthus nodded, still staring at the magnificent blade in his hand.

"We still be havin' a mission to complete 'ere," Ozwulf reminded as he spun and looked at Dellya.

"This place seems a dead end now," Dellya added, "_back then_, to the third tunnel I suppose?"

"Aye," Ozwulf answered, "right ye be lass."

The heroes backtracked down the earthen tunnel until they returned to the burial chamber that they had fought the many undead corpses in. From there, Ozwulf lead the way down the unexplored third exiting earthen tunnel that they had yet to explore. The others followed suit, leaving the dwarf a little room to advance ahead in shadowed light as he made his way down this new tunnel of dirt and hanging vines.

The pace down the unexplored tunnel continued cautiously for several more minutes until Ozwulf signaled from ahead for the party to come to a stop.

"Be dousin' the torches," Ozwulf whispered back to Acanthus and the others.

After the torches were put out in the soft dirt of the tunnel passage, the others began to see that the tunnel exited ahead of the crouching Ozwulf and some type of glowing dim light filled the large chamber room ahead.

Ozwulf's eyes were already busy taking in the many details of the area ahead. It appeared to be an earthen dirt and root filled chamber, much the same as this tunnel, only much larger. It looked to have been cleared and excavated long ago by worked tools and hands, but the many years since its clearing had left it exposed to natures intrusions, marked with vines, hanging roots, and pieces of rock that had collapsed in places from its high natural ceiling. The room seemed to stretch out in front of the dwarf at least sixty paces or more and a stone supported archway could be seen crafted into the earthen wall on the far side, opposite this tunnel entrance.

Ozwulf glanced up toward the ceiling in the center of the large area and could see that was where the light seemed to be coming from. The light on the ceiling was dimly covering this entire area. Several large fist sized dusky crystals were lodged into the earthen ceiling in areas. Each of these strange crystal rocks were giving off a dusty amber glow, covering the chamber in a sickly yellowish dim light. They looked natural, as if they were growing right out of the stone.

Ozwulf completed his visual inspection of the room, his eyes finally landing on a stone pedestal, in the exact center of the dirt strewn floor. The pedestal looked like it was made to hold a tome, but was empty and stood in stony silence. This stone podium seemed to be the only real object of crafted work that could be seen here by the dwarf.

The dwarf's expression soured and a scowl washed over his bearded face. Sindel pushed past Acanthus and moved up behind the crouching dwarf.

"Why must you do this every time," Sindel gasped as quietly as he could?

"_Shush elf_," Ozwulf snapped back.

"Can we _ever_ stop in anything but tight dark tunnel ways, that is all I ask," Sindel moaned as he eyes over the room much as Ozwulf had done over the past couple of minutes?

"Finally a chamber, with air, much more air than this narrow thing we muddle in now, and there is some light from the crystals there in the ceiling. What is not to like my friend," Sindel pleaded?

Ozwulf's eyed narrowed at Sindel and then his gaze returned to the room. The dwarf pointed up to the dimly lit yellowish ceiling, about a dozen paces beyond the furthest crystal formation. Sindel followed the dwarf's finger until he finally saw what the dwarf had spotted.

"Holes," Sindel questioned?

"Aye," Ozwulf replied, "I be countin' three at least that I be seein', all in the ceilin' 'ere, with dirt an' rock pile beneath where they be."

"Could be more too, I not be likin' this light, tis hard to make details with."

"Are they collapse or are they dug," Sindel asked?

"They be _dug_ into this place I be thinkin'," Ozwulf replied, "beetle, worm, creature o' some sort, but how long ago, I not be knowin'."

"But we be needin' to get across 'ere to that archway beyond an' I not be likin' that fact."

Ozwulf looked back into the tunnel where the others were crouched behind him. The dwarf slid a dagger from his belt and carried it in his right hand, propping his crossbow in the fold of his left elbow for a second.

"We be movin' in," Ozwulf commanded.

"Acanthus, ye be takin' the rear, lasses, ye stay close to Sindel. I be wantin' us all to stay together in this room ahead, no splittin' apart more than a pace or two. Be followin' where I step. We be movin' down the middle towards an archway o' stone on the other side, keep to that task an' nothing more. There be holes in the ceiling in spots ahead, be watchin' those holes when ye can see em' til we be reachin' the other side."

The others nodded as they began to file past Acanthus, leaving him to the rear of the tunnel. Ozwulf stood and exited the tunnel first, advancing slowly in the dim yellow lit chamber. The dirt here was dry and soft as Ozwulf half slid, half shuffled, foot by foot towards the stone pedestal in the center of the long chamber. His eyes rotated above from hole to hole across the crystal, root, and rocky earthen ceiling of the chamber.

"Another pair of holes to the far corners," Sindel whispered to Ozwulf.

"And another to our left," Acanthus noted, pointing with the tip of _the Steelfire Shroud_ blade he carried.

All of the companions crept out of the tunnel and slowly made their way in a tight cluster across the chamber. Ozwulf slowed and took a cursory glance over the old stone carved pedestal he was not just a few feet from. It looked ancient, but sturdy, but nothing special stood out to the dwarf. It was as if this chamber had been dug out long ago, for some special purpose, but was abandoned before it ever was completed for its purpose.

Ozwulf moved past the stone piece, keeping to his quiet shuffle through the dirt and rock covered chamber floor, his eyes moving between the dark stone archway in the wall ahead and the ominous holes layering the ceiling across the chamber.

_~ CRACK ~_

A snapping crackle of leather boot crushing something hard split into the air behind Ozwulf. The dwarf stopped without a noise, his heart thumping hard within his leather mail as he glanced behind him. Sindel, just a long stride behind the dwarf had paused, the heel of his right boot still raised in instinct above the area he had just inadvertently stepped. Beneath the raised heel, lay the shattered remains of a dull yellowed crystal piece, fallen from someone above long ago.

Sindel gave the dwarf an apologetic look as he stared down at the crushed piece of rock crystal on the ground.

"_Slide_ . . . I always be sayin' slide, _ye blasted idjit_," Ozwulf hissed, "stompin' 'bout be fer mules an' other asses!"

A scurry came from above and then another from a second area in the stone ceiling, deeper within the chamber, closer to the stone archway wall in front of the companions. The noise sounded like a rush of tapping scrapes against pebbled dirt from the ceiling above the chamber. The sound came in small waves, with a dozen or so light taps against the echoing rock above, then silence. Then another half dozen to a dozen taps, then silence again. The sounds were heavy enough to be heard, echoing out from the open holes in the ceiling, but not loud enough to carry enough weight to drop dirt from the ceiling above or move dangling roots from above.

"What . . ," Dellya began.

"_Shuuush_," Ozwulf whispered, interrupting Dellya and signaling for silence with his dagger, which was turned sideways in his right hand.

Sindel gripped his wand, feeling a rush of shame cross his face for his part in alerting whatever it was above them to their presence.

And like a free falling apple from a tree branch in the woods, it began. A large form, the size of small pony dangled down from one of the holes in front of the companions. It glided down on a single strand of silvery thin thread. The thread looked impossibly frail to hold such a large nightmarish shape. As the mass of legs, spiny ridges, and other misbegotten parts landed without a noise, its many long black legs grabbed the ground and spun it so it could face the on-looking companions. Dellya counted its many blood red wine colored eyes and watched as greenish mucus dripped from its black hair covered fangs.

A second form and a third dropped down from holes behind the companions, near the tunnel that had entered from.

"By the _Fathers Iron Tooth_," Acanthus whispered.

"Be at ye ready, Acanthus . . . Sindel, be defendin' the lasses an' keepin' a wall at our back," Ozwulf growled.

"Dellie, Sayeth, be usin' ye torches if ye be havin' time to be lightin' em," Ozwulf ordered, "they be not likin' flame one bit! It can be buyin' ye some space from those fangs an' can burn through the sticky silk they be spittin'."

"Elf . . . ye be earin' me, right?"

"_Indeed_," Sindel answered.

The massive bloated black and red spider scurried for in a charge in front of Ozwulf but stopped short of a full on assault as it pulled up about a dozen paces in front of the dwarf and raised up on its many bowed legs.

Ozwulf did not flinch, dropping the dagger into the dirt at his feet while he swung the heavy dwarven crossbow from the cradle in his left arm to a sturdier firing position with both hands grasping the weapon.

The spider finished its strange hesitation and seemed to shimmy about for a moment as if it were having a body spasm. A spraying glob of white silvery looking thread lanced forward from under the creatures abdomen and sped towards the dwarf.

Ozwulf rolled to his left in a perfect wheel motion coming back up to one knee, while he kept a full aim at the creature. The blast of wet sticky webbing landed where the dwarf had been, spraying the area in glistening thin silky material. Seeing that the webbed glob had missed its target, the bulky spike-ridden spider began to rush forward once more, adjusting its angle to find the dwarf once more.

~ CLICK CHUNK ~

The sound of the heavy dwarven crossbow could not be mistaken and a whizzing metal bolt sped forth from Ozwulf and raced towards the oncoming bloated thing. The spider stopped and shuttered like a dazed fly that had been swatted from a tavern table in mid-air. The bolt had hit dead center in the creature's head, between the largest of its many red eyes. The creature tumbled to the ground a few paces in front of Ozwulf, rolling to one side as it dropped.

Acanthus stepped in front of Dellya and Sayeth, his silvery new blade resting comfortably in his powerful hands. The pair of bloated spider creatures remained off to his right shoulder and left shoulder, each about a dozen or more paces away. Acanthus set to receive either or both of them if they advanced close enough to strike. Dellya had no such intention as a _twang_ reverberated from behind Acanthus and an arrow leapt through the air toward the spider on the right. It struck the thing high on its raised bulbous back section and lodged deep within it.

This sent forth a flurry of activity as both the injured spider and its counterpart on the other flank each raised up on their legs and squirted free a lance of glistening bolted webbing forward towards the big Avarri warrior. Each of the spiders had aimed high for their shot, targeting the tall barbarian's mid-section and torso, but Acanthus proved quicker. Seeing the bolts of silvery wet threads rushing towards him, Acanthus dropped and slid to his left to a face first prone position on the dirt floor. Both of the spidery bolts missed him as they raced over where he had stood just a second before.

~SPLACK~

~SPLACK~

Where both bolts of sticky gooey thread had missed their target, each had found another one instead. Both Dellya and Sayeth were blasted in the chest and face with the zinging bolts of webbing. The force surprised each of them as both were knocked a pace or two back and tumbled down onto the earthen floor in shock. Both girls were now coated from head to waist with wet, sticky, silken spider webbing. The sticky material dried almost immediately and stuck to their clothes, their hair, in their fingers, and held them fast onto the dirt and rock ground around them.

Sindel glanced down at the surprised, web covered women but kept his focus in front of him and his mind sharp.

The spiders both charged forward towards the downed girls who were struggling on the ground below. Acanthus, still prone and face down in the dirt, watched to his left as a fourth spider dropped down and began a similar charge towards him from about ten paces away. All three of the forms moved with the quickness of a sprinting deer along the dry pebbled strewn dirt ground.

Sindel raised his wand and ushered forth a beautiful incantation recited in a heavy Dhalish phrased accent. The tip of his tapered thin wooden wand began to glow a soft red, then a fiery blazing orange, and finally it ignited into a bright white hot point, like a star in the night sky. A sizzling whooshing sound was heard as fire poured and swirled from the tip of the white star tipped wand and expanded in front of Sindel in a roaring swirling cone of destruction. The pair of intersecting spiders could do little but get engulfed by the raging cone of roaring flames the blasted into them.

The bloated things made no noise as the swoosh poured over them and once the roar of hot blasting fire washed away to nothingness, all that was left were a pair of shriveled crackling black husks where once there were bloated spiny spiders. The ground around the blasted conical area was fused and black with burning char and ember.

Acanthus eyes watched the erupting fire and the heat caused a light sweat to race over the warriors face. For a moment, Sindel thought he saw true fear in Acanthus' eyes at the display of fiery magic, but it was only for a fleeting moment, as the third spider was rushing fast and almost upon the prone barbarian.

Acanthus shot up to a crouch and waited one more second until the fangs of the spider were close enough spit upon. With a mighty leap, the barbarian jumped straight up and forward into the air as if he were trying to hurdle the oncoming thing. The spider saw the jump with its many red eyes and tried to scurry to a halt as the barbarian leapt. It large black head and fangs tilted upwards towards the rising barbarian as he leaped.

The jump was short of clearing the bulbous rear of the creature, but it was meant to be, as Acanthus came driving down upon the creatures head and mid-section, silvery blade first.

The rune covered sword, called _the Steelfire Shroud_, pierced through the connecting area between the spiders head and body with a crunch, impacting with the earthen ground below as Acanthus' driving weight added to the blow as he landed.

The spider was pinned into the ground and knew it was finished. It scurried left and then right, nothing but inches at a time, as it could not move without tearing off its own head. Thick black ooze poured out of the lanced area it had been stuck in. And after another second or two of this awkward motion, the horrid creature scurried no more.

Ozwulf turned, watching the magical fiery cone engulf the pair of spiders and he began to put another metal bolt into his trusted crossbow. Sindel beamed a smile as fiery as his magic had been, pleased with the spell he had just cast. He then glanced down at the webbed girls struggling in front of him and put his wand away, scanning the ground around them.

"Stop wrestling with it," Sindel offered, "it is much stickier and stronger than you would think."

"Let me strike up a torch and that should do the trick," Sindel continued, unslinging his pack and pulling forth a torch from it.

Ozwulf saw that Sindel was completely unaware of the large form dangling over his standing form that had come from a nearby hole and scurried across the ceiling while the elf had been casting his spell. The dwarf looked at the bolt he had placed in his crossbow and guessed it would take several seconds, at least, to pull back the cranking tensioner and then ready his shot. Ozwulf glanced at the dagger near his boot and the many daggers in his belt and in their many scabbards across his body. He then glanced at the ten paces or so between him and his friend and for one small second, Ozwulf felt nothing but intense fear, as there was little he could do for his friend with the time he had.

"_Sindel_, above . . ," Ozwulf shouted!

Those two words were all he got out before the bloated spider thing fell from the shadowy yellowed glowing ceiling above, like a star falling through the night sky.

Although the large spidery creatures moved light upon their many legs, the thing had more weight than Sindel's frame could hold. As the spider dropped onto the surprised elf standing beneath it, Sindel's knees buckled and the weight drove him hard into the ground. Four of its spiny legs stuck to Sindel's back while two stuck to his flailing, reaching, grasping arms. Its last two black spiny legs held Sindel's shoulder down as it balanced upon the thin elf as it drove him down.

The fangs were next. The two, fist sized, black fangs drove deep into Sindel's fleshy exposed neck landing cleaning on his back between his left shoulder and his head.

Dellya and Sayeth both screamed with terror.

Sindel let out a sharp hissing shout of pain as the spider's fangs lanced him.

Ozwulf's first dagger was racing through air and sunk deep into the spider's head from the side. The large thing was caught by surprise with the throw and leapt off of the helpless Sindel, its poison filled kiss already delivered to the elf. It spun towards Ozwulf sizing him up for a moment.

Acanthus let loose a growl that sounded like a mix between a grizzly bear and an angry mountain cat as he charged forward into the thing.

The tall warrior crashed into the bloated spider and drove it sideways, hard into the ground, as it had done to Sindel just moments ago. A flash of silver followed and then a slashing sound as steel tore open the things carapace and spidery tissues. Acanthus stood over the shaking bloated body and let loose a kick so hard from his booted foot it cracked open and tore through the softer underbelly of the spider's mid-section. Black gore spilled out from the cracked wound like an egg hitting the ground and the spider stopped shuttering and became still.

Acanthus kicked it again.

Ozwulf was already racing over to his fallen companion. The dwarf looked down at his very still friend and his heart pounded with fear and concern.

The pair of acorn sized fang marks lay clear in black and bruised purple on Sindel's neck and shoulder. The area was swelling with blood from the clash of the poison entering the elf's blood. Sindel did not move at all and was very pale. His breathing was raspy and shallow and his limbs were stiff at all points, like pieces of dried wood.

Acanthus rushed over behind the kneeling Ozwulf and saw the swelling wounds growing from purple black acorns in size, to swollen blue and purple apples where the fang marks were.

"_Imhar's bones_," Acanthus murmured, "what do we do?"

Ozwulf's breathing was rushed and haggard, his thoughts raced with concern. The dwarf's hands shook as he knelt over Sindel's still form; revealing his concern, as harsh reality took over.

"What must we do," Acanthus pleaded again?

"_A . . . ah . . . a minute_ _. ._ ," Ozwulf stammered, his hands shaking.

Ozwulf's mouth went dry and his mind began to clear of all and any thoughts to becoming a blank white cloud of confusion drifting over head in some listless thoughtless sky.

"Ozwulf . . . Oz, help him, please," Acanthus pleaded, shaking the dwarf by the shoulder.

"_Uhm_ . . . yes, yes, o' course," Ozwulf mumbled, "jus' be lettin' find me thoughts."

Ozwulf looked down again upon the helpless elf as the purple black wounds festered, threatening to steal away his friend's life before his eyes. Ozwulf cleared his throat and pushed away his panic and grief.

"Ah . . . be gettin' a torch struck an' quick. We be needin' it. Free the lasses with it while I be gettin' the elf patched up. When I be callin' for the torch, be at ye ready. Hurry now."

Ozwulf looked down at the bite marks again. They continued to swell and purplish blue lines poured all about Sindel's shoulder like an eerie spider azure spider's web, a sick irony if there ever was one. The fang marks were swollen red with blood and poisons.

Acanthus began to strike up a torch from his pack and burn away some of the webbing from the two stuck girls. Both were sobbing with fear and concern from what they had seen. Ozwulf ripped through his pack, pulling out a small black wooden box, a small stoppered glass vial filled with twigs and leaves, and a small metal thin rod that was thinner than even Sindel's wand.

Acanthus paused from freeing the girls from the webbing and held the torch near Sindel's gruesome festering wound.

"I have heard the _Spirit Talker's_ say that you can sometimes cut the wound of a serpent's bite to draw out their vile poisons from their spit," Acanthus offered, staring at the vicious wound.

"Although . . . I admit, I have never done this and know not if it is a healing wisdom or just an old wives tale."

"Be a wives tale," Ozwulf answered; busy at work with the items he had pulled from his pack.

"The more ye be cuttin' the wound, the more that poison be shootin' into the elf's blood an' spreadin' like wildfire to his heart an' head. He'd be dead in under a minute if we be doin' that."

Acanthus gulped.

Ozwulf frantically crumbled up the dried twigs and leaves from the small stoppered vial onto the blade of one of his daggers. He then took a small vial from the black wooden box and removed the stopper from it. He drizzled a few drops of oily liquid into the crushed leaves upon the blade and rubbed it together with his thick stumpy fingers. Ozwulf smashed and pushed a glob of the oily mixture into the long thin metal piece, which appeared to Acanthus to look hollowed at both ends.

"_Hold him_ lad," Ozwulf ordered Acanthus.

The big warrior held Sindel's frail form, although it was as still as an old log. Ozwulf took the thin metal stick and jabbed it into the swollen right fang mark on Sindel's neck. The metal piece dug into the purplish wound several inches before Ozwulf removed it.

"Good," Ozwulf offered, "again, once more."

The dwarf did the same thing to the other fang mark on Sindel's shoulder, reloading the mixture in the unused end and jabbing hard again into the other wound.

"Now, sit him up an' be holdin' him still," Ozwulf said.

As Acanthus propped the unmoving elven body upright to a sitting position on the ground, both swollen purple wounds began to pump and throb before finally spilling out blood. After a second or two of that, a black stream of liquid began oozing forth out of both wounds and glistening down the elf's pale back. Another moment passed and the leaking streams of puss and poison became red again with blood.

Ozwulf picked up the flickering torch next to Acanthus and moved it closer to the oozing bloody wounds.

"Be at ye ready now," Ozwulf ordered, "be holdin' him tight."

Ozwulf pressed the burning torch onto the elf's exposed wounds.

Sindel awoke, screaming in nightmarish pain. His screams echoed throughout the long room and through the tunnels and archways of this cursed place. The smell of burning flesh stung the noses of those watching the wounded elf. Dellya and Acanthus turned away, although Acanthus held Sindel down as he writhed and screamed, trying to escape his burning pain until he eventually passed out once more.

Sayeth too turned away, not able to watch as Ozwulf tended to Sindel's wound. Her eyes, staring down to the scorched dirt and spider blood filled dirt around them until they settled on a strange sight. Arm's length from the girl, in the dirt, was a thin familiar wooden object.

It was Sindel's wand.

Sayeth's eyes glanced up and over the scene around her. All heads were turned away from her at the moment and Ozwulf was still burning Sindel's soft swollen flesh with the torch.

Like a night mouse in a pantry at midnight, Sayeth's pale fingers shot forth in a blur and snatched up the dirt covered wooden wand. She drew it to her and tucked it greedily away into the folds of her blouse.

Sindel's screams finally stopped, the elf passing out from the burning pain, and Sayeth grinned as she stole a peak at the small frail item she had taken.


	17. Chapter 17 - Spirits

**Chapter 17 – Spirits**

Sindel blinked, opening his eyes. The dim yellow dirty glow from the crystals above him were now replaced with an ember cloudy darkness that moved above him like a slow moving shadowy fog bank in the night. He clutched his fingers against the ground in a scraping motion and felt no dirt crumble in his fingers. He just felt a spongy hard surface like an old hay mattress that had been laid on for years without replacement straw.

"_'Ello_ Sindel elf," Dreeza whispered to him from a few paces away.

Sindel blinked again, turning his head to his right and looking in the direction the voice had come from. Standing not far from the prone Sindel was Dreeza, the Fade presence that he had spoken with before in the woods. Her alabaster white glowing skin clashed with her bruise purple lips and her large black eyes stared, unblinking, down at him as he lay on the ground.

"Hmm, _the Fade_ then," Sindel murmured to himself, barely audible to the elf woman thing near him.

"That can't be good."

"Do ye need a help up then," Dreeza asked?

"Ah . . ," Sindel glanced down at his feet for a moment and then stood up.

"I think I am ok to stand," Sindel replied, "but thank you . . . _Dreeza_ . . . right?"

"Aye Sindel elf, ah just thought ye . . . well, ye might be in need," Dreeza trailed off, pointing at Sindel's chest on his left side.

Sindel looked down at himself and noticed his shirt was torn in places along the ridge of his shoulder line and his padded tunic was layered in stains of deep red.

"Oh," Sindel gasped, "Uhm, yes that may be a problem, I guess."

"Ye de nah know wha' happened then," Dreeza asked?

"Uhm, not exactly, no," Sindel replied, checking over his form for more wounds or other evidence of injury.

"I was in a place, a dark place, maybe a cave I think. Yes, with the others, my friends. And there was fire . . . and something else . . . and pain. And then there was stormy darkness, like a deep sleep brought about with Indigo mushroom stock. And then I was here."

A thought dashed through Sindel's mind quicker than he could grasp it and pushed forward out of his mouth.

"_Am I dead_," he whispered?

"_Sindel_," Dreeza hissed back!

"Ye are nah dead, I can clearly see that. Ye spirit tis nicked an' weak, but ye are nah dead."

Sindel seemed relieved at her stubborn assessment, enough so that he let out a sigh and stopped staring at the deep red wash that draped over his tunic around his neck. He wished he could remember more, but in a strange sense, he thought that maybe it was for the best that he could not remember the details for now.

A second feeling washed over Sindel as his face contorted with concern. If he was injured and unconscious, how were his friends? How were Oz, Acanthus, Dellya, and Sayeth? What had happened or was happening to them?

"Easy now Sindel, breathe easier," Dreeza offered, moving close enough to the elf to touch him.

Sindel inhaled, trying to breathe in deeply to ease his growing worry. She smelled of roses and honeysuckle on the morning of a spring rain. Sindel blushed at the pleasant thought and looked up, catching Dreeza's large black eyes. She noticed his blush and offered a thin smile with her purpled lips, but said nothing else.

"My . . ._ friends_ . . ," Sindel breathed out?

"Ah am sure they are all right," Dreeza reassured, "they must be, right, they are nah 'ere."

Sindel thought about the statement for a moment. Dreeza's logic seemed correct. If there were killed, their spirits would be floating around here, in _the Fade_, searching to cross_ the Thin Veil_ to the afterworld. Or perhaps roaming this place, seeking out there after life destiny if nothing else. But, that did not prohibit injury, maiming, torture, pain, suffering, or any of a thousand things that raced once more through the elf's mind, all at once. Sindel looked across from him once again and locked eyes with Dreeza again. She had not stopped staring at him since she had stepped closer. Again, words escaped his lips before his mind could stop them.

"What is _your_ part here Dreeza," Sindel asked, his eyes narrowing a bit as he said it?

"Wha' do ye mean Sindel," Dreeza asked?

"_Here_, in _the Fade_ I mean, with me, this is not coincidence. This is _twice_ now we have spoken and upon our last chat, you mentioned you had watched me before. Why? What do you seek of me? Nothing here is without price. I have learned that lesson already, the hard way."

"I seek nothin' of ye Sindel, I only wish to help ye if I can," Dreeza replied, breaking eye contact with Sindel as she looked down at the amber glowing ground shadowing around her.

"Help? What does that mean, what help do you offer and what help am I in need of," Sindel blurted out?

"Every mage needs help in this place, agreed," Dreeza offered?

"Fair enough, but I have heard that before, from others here. Playing upon my pride, offering the power to smite my foes, those that would hate and harm me," Sindel said.

"I told ye," Dreeza shot back, "I am no demon."

"Then what," Sindel chided?

"I once was _a Dhalish_, not unlike ye," Dreeza answered.

"I died, in grassy fields glazed with flame and blood, on a day where the afternoon sun burned high overhead against me eyes an' face. T'was long ago, but a day I will never forget. When I came to the Fade, me spirit was not at rest, as I had a strong feeling of penance that needed answer before I found me final rest."

"A _penance_," Sindel asked?

"Aye, a debt that I had not repaid 'pon me death," Dreeza replied.

"And I sought a justice for our people, for the great injustice they had been offered in me life an' 'pon the day of me death as well."

Sindel raised an eyebrow at this as he considered what Dreeza has just revealed.

"I too seek justice for our people," Sindel sighed.

"Aye, I know, that is what first drew me to ye," Dreeza said.

"Ye seem like an honorable Dhalish man. Born a mage, but not resigned to lettin' it get ye down. Ye were raised of a punishing tough orphan life, in the Ferelden streets, like another of me bloodline that lives in your _Age_. An' ye have a true passion for our people an' for what is right. _For justice_."

"Ok then, let's _assume_ you are telling me the truth," Sindel proposed.

"You are not a demon, but an elven woman's spirit from another _Age_, drifting along in _the Fade_, seeking justice for the Dhalish while taking an interest in a down trodden unfortunate mage like myself. How can you help me?"

"I know things, I see things, an' I am part of a larger host that also knows an' sees things throughout _the Fade_, an' sometimes in Thedas as well," Dreeza answered.

"Very well," Sindel replied, "that sounds promising, at the least. Tell me what you know of _Lord Darkmoor_ and _the Eyes of the Maker_."

Dreeza thought about the question, a long pause of silence overtaking the conversation between the elven mage and the elven female spirit. Dreeza took a not so casual glance over both of her shoulders and scanned the amber drifting sky of _the Fade_ for a moment.

"Now _that_ was very interesting," Sindel broke the silence.

"You know answers to my questions, but _will not_ reveal them. You wish to help, but _do not_. And you show pause and even concern with your looks about the shadowed sky. You are a mystery upon a riddle my girl."

"Tis not wha ye think Sindel elf," Dreeza sighed, lowering her tone to a close whisper.

"One must be cautious 'ere, ye know that as best as I do. There can prying eyes 'bout an' listening ears in this place, to be usin' what ye say to work 'gainst ye. An' I wish no 'arm to come ye way 'cause of me."

"Uh huh," Sindel rebuffed the woman, his head tilting in disbelief of her words.

"I will venture the risk I think."

"Not all the risk is yours Sindel," Dreeza shot back.

"_Really_," Sindel begged, "I am not even sure how to respond to that. What frightens a spirit who is dead and in _the Fade_?"

Dreeza did not answer, choosing to just stare into Sindel's eyes once more with her own large black orbs.

"Lord Darkmoor is _here_, in _the Fade_ Sindel," Dreeza answered, breaking the pause.

"His _spirit_ you mean," Sindel asked, "so he is like you then, dead long ago, but still wandering _the Fade_?"

"Nah like me, no," Dreeza answered.

"He chose the way of _pride_ an' was more demon than man, long before he arrived here in this place. He is still here, part by his own desires an' part by the demon than binds him to this place, an 'part by the second thing ye asked 'bout."

"_The Eyes_," Sindel prodded?

"Aye, _the Eyes_. They be what bound him to _the Fade_, not allowin' him to be free to move on to the afterlife.

"Then _the Eyes_ are here, _somehow_, in this place," Sindel contemplated the riddle that unfolded before him?

"How?"

"A Templar brought them, long ago I believe," Dreeza answered.

"A Templar I believe that slew Lord Darkmoor in a fight in the land of living, and then used _the Eyes_ to follow the demon an' spirit here, to ensure they would be causin' no more trouble for the lands an' the people in the future."

"_Intriguing_," Sindel exhaled.

"I have literally dozens of more questions for you. You may have become my new best friend and the only pleasant thing I have ever seen in this place since I have known it Dreeza."

The elf woman smiled at his boastful compliment. A flutter of heavy feathered wings echoed above the pair from high above in the amber miasma. Dreeza looked up, a look of concern creeping over her face as the sound fluttered overhead.

"Is that what concerned you," Sindel asked, "_a bird_ somewhere above?"

"Nah, do nah be concerned Sindel elf," Dreeza smiled back at him, although a hint of desperation showed in her expression.

"Our time 'ere tis almost at an' end though."

"_What_, how do you mean," Sindel glanced about nervously?

"Ye must be gettin' back to ye friends," Dreeza replied, "an' ye must be thinkin' 'bout somethin' else as well."

Sindel began to feel a strange feeling in his gut. At first it was like a tugging from within, but it was quickly building to a nagging ache swelling up from his stomach and pushing out towards his entire torso.

"Ugh," Sindel moaned out, "I do not think I am feeling so well."

"Sindel, think 'bout something for me, please," Dreeza pleaded.

Sindel tried to push out the pain and nausea he was feeling and looked up at the woman once more. She was blurry and fading quickly from his sight. Sindel squinted but could not focus in on her at all.

"Sindel, remember, _Raven or Crow_," Dreeza said, "_Raven or Crow_!"

"_Wha_," Sindel moaned, pain exploding over his shoulder and neck, as if the sun had come down from the skies and landed on it.

"An' when the time is needed Sindel, just light the torches . . ." Dreeza echoed as the world spun, grew hotter, and finally became all a burning darkness to the elf.


	18. Chapter 18 - Skeletons in the Closet

**Chapter 18 – Skeletons in the Closet**

Drips of cool water leaked over Sindel's brow and down into his closed eyes. The water seemed to go from cool and refreshing to warm and pooling in just seconds as it drizzled over his cheeks. Intense pain shot through his left shoulder and down his neck like a thousand stings from a thousand biting insects. He did not move but sighed out an achy moan caused by the shooting throbs of pain. He squinted away the pooling warm remains of water. His back and legs felt stiff, numb, and cold. He was laying on a very hard, very cool surface; that much he could tell. He dared a peek, opening his right eye and stifling another moan from the lance of pain that was radiating from the back of his neck in waves.

"He's awake," Sayeth whispered.

The pale young girl was sitting next to him, damp cloth in hand, wringing the cool water out over his warm brow. Dellya, who was standing near Sayeth, bow drawn and in hand, rushed over at the girl's announcement and stared down at Sindel. A look of great concern was spread across her dirt stained face.

"_I knew it_, I knew you would pull through ok," Dellya whispered, her eyes misting up and a smile creeping across her face.

The sound of boots rushed from deeper within the dark room and Sindel could see Ozwulf and Acanthus hovering over him as well.

"By the King's beard elf," Ozwulf rumbled, "that be quite a scare ye be givin' us."

"Aye friend Sindel," Acanthus added, kneeling down and patting the elf gently on the arm, "a warrior's fight you have in that frail Dhalish body."

"How long have I been out," Sindel croaked out, his voice parched and cracking?

"A couple of hours now," Sayeth answered, "what do you remember?"

"Dirt . . . yellow light . . . pain . . . fire . . . a battle perhaps . . . the Fade, Dreeza . . ," Sindel mumbled in a hoarse throaty response.

"_Here_," Sayeth offered, pouring a bit of cool water on Sindel's lips and into his parched mouth.

"What is a _drizzle_, or _Dreezle_, or _Zeeza_, or whatever he just wheezed," Dellya asked?

"Alright, alright then, there be 'nough time for _that_ an' all those other things an' questions an' answers . . . _later_," Ozwulf whispered.

"Fer now, we all be needin' to be a'tease an' cheerful the elf be livin' at this point."

"That bad eh," Sindel creaked out?

"Bad 'nough me friend, bad 'nough," Ozwulf replied, glancing past Sindel's face as he stole a peek at Sindel's shoulder.

Sindel missed none of the look or the reaction from his dwarven friend. It was almost as if the elf had a mirror to view the wound instead of Ozwulf's reaction.

"Yes," Sindel moaned again, "why does it feel like there is a hornet's nest built around my shoulder and neck?"

"And whomever is stirring them up inside, please stop, they are stinging like they are fighting for their last breath."

"It be ye shoulder an' ye neck elf," Ozwulf pointed.

"If n' ye not be rememberin', we be findin' ourselves attacked in the yellow crystal room. From above . . . the hairy things be comin' all 'round us from the holes in the ceilin'. Droppin' like fallin' snow from the white clouds of the northern mounts."

"_The spiders_," Sindel recalled, trying his best to stay still as each breathe and shift of his body brought a new strike of pain throbbing down his neck.

"Aye, the spiders," Ozwulf nodded.

"One be catchin' the drop on ye, from above, after ye spell o' flames. Sunk it's fangs in ye back an' neck but good. Had ye pumped so full o' poisons, ye limbs were stiff as stone. Ye heart be wantin' to be burstin' in just minutes after the bite."

"Ozwulf saved you," Acanthus beamed, "he drew forth the poisons from your blood with his healer's craft and his herbal poultice."

"_Bah_, it be nothin'," Ozwulf deflected, "bit o' luck the gods be owin' me t'was all. Ye not be so 'appy once ye be seein' ye back an' neck. I be havin' to burn the wound to be fightin' off infection an' stop the bleedin' fer ye bled out."

'_Lucky Sindel_,' Ozwulf thought to himself.

"Ah, that would explain a few things then," Sindel whispered, relaxing his neck a bit from his attempts to turn it either direction.

"Let me see what I can do about this pain then, as I cannot stand much more of it."

Sindel flexed his fingers to stir his circulation. His fingers felt ice cold and for the first time, he could see he was lying flat on his bedroll, upon a cool stone cut floor. He bent his arm and reached inside his tunic with his right hand. The pouch he had sewn into the padded shirt was empty. Sindel felt a ping of panic wash over him.

"Either my fingertips have gone completely numb or my wand is _missing_," Sindel said, staring up at Ozwulf.

"_Aye_, I be lookin' all 'bout fer it after ye fell an' were tended to," Ozwulf offered.

"We _all_ did," Sayeth added.

"But, we not be findin' any sign o' it after the battle. An' the room be one big pile o' dirt an' webs, all throughout the area. An' we be hard pressed with ye wounded, to be stayin' longer than we should, as we be fearin' more o' them critters be scurryin' down 'pon our heads at any moment."

Sindel let out a parched croak of elven curses from his dry lips.

"Sides, I be figurin' once ye felt up to it, if n' need be, we be back trackin' to that room to search 'gain with ye magic's. T'would be makin' fer an' easier search with less time, right," Ozwulf asked?

Sayeth glanced down at her trembling hands and buried them in the folds of blouse. She did not breathe, fearful that the stolen wand now might be found in her possession. She had not thought through her actions, even when pretending to search around for the item after the battle, claiming it to be lost. She was now sure she would be found a liar and a thief by Sindel and the others. Panic gnawed at her every moment.

"Ah, my dwarven friend," Sindel smiled, "if only it were that easy. If only all things in magic were _that_ easy."

"I am not sure where we are or where that room is, but you can catch me up when I am feeling better. We will have to go back for my wand and I can use my magic's to help find the item, but it will be have to be very close by where I am searching, a half dozen to a dozen paces or so, as it is very minor implement of magic. Such items are not heavily steeped in arcane energies themselves, just coated in remnants of it. But, I will need it, so we will have to try, even though I loathe the idea of returning to that spider's nest of evil bloated poisonous dung."

"Do you mind helping me up a bit," Sindel asked Sayeth?

Sayeth let out the breathe she had been holding and shook away her fears. She offered a gentle arm of support to Sindel, helping him prop up a bit. With each new level, from lying to sitting, Sindel wheezed out of moan as the wounded shoulder squeezed with throbbing pressure and lancing pain.

Sindel sat for a moment now that he was upright. Blood drained down from his head and throbbing neck down into his limbs, pumping readily. He fought back a wave of dizziness and then tried his best to push away the steady pounding drums of pain that were waving throughout his thin form. He concentrated on his magical energies and fought back a rising sensation of nausea the pain was forcing from its intensity. Sayeth noticed his swoon and tried her best to help hold his form upright.

"Easy Sindel," Sayeth begged, "you are very weak, and more than you think I would guess."

"_Indeed_," Sindel smiled, "so it would seem."

"My energies are taxed and this pain is unbearable."

"Sorry elf," Ozwulf apologized, "t'was the best I be doin' on the spot as we were."

"Not your fault Oz," Sindel offered, "I understand. You have my gratitude, as always, you know that."

"Sayeth, my left hip belt pouch please, open it and remove what is inside. It should be a vial, a blue vial of _Lyrium_ . . . if it too _has not_ disappeared," Sindel quipped.

Sayeth had forgotten all about the discovery Ozwulf had made earlier in the catacombs. She fingered at the belt pouch on Sindel's opposite side until she felt the small crystal vial slide between her fingers. She removed it and a blue glow outlined Sindel and the others in a bath of magical blue glow.

"_Ah_, that's the one," Sindel whispered to Sayeth, eyeing over the glowing blue vial.

"Un-stopper it please and pour it all down my throat," Sindel said, opening his mouth wide like a baby bird awaiting a worm from its mother.

Sayeth twisted off the small stoppered cork and stared at the intoxicating sparkling blue glowing liquid inside the vial. She moved it over Sindel's open mouth and poured the entire contents down his throat.

"_Ah_," Sindel purred, "now that's the cure for what ails me."

The blue liquid's glow seemed to radiate down the elf's fragile throat and as it pulsed throughout his sitting form, a glow began to gently emit from the Dhalish elves' narrow eyes. Sindel looked stronger, healthier already, although his wounds had not been healed at all. Sindel raised one of his hands, balancing his sitting position with the other, and began an incantation. Arcana could be felt by the others, raw magical energy, releasing from his hand and into the wound and all around the nearby area.

Another Dhalish spurt of words released another band of spells and then another. The wounds blackened skin and puss ridden marks faded to a leathery dark skin look on Sindel's shoulder and neck. Then the wounded area shifted again towards a shade of pink and red skin tones, shrinking from their swollen burnt appearance. Finally, they appeared as two small white scars the size of acorns on a field of new pink and pale moonlight skin upon the elf's shoulder and down his back under his shoulder.

"You need _not_ your wand to perform such miracles," Sayeth asked, a mesmerized awe overtaking her look?

"It helps, but _no_, to answer your question," Sindel smiled, standing up as he did so.

"The wand aids in gently guiding my magic's, as I explained before. Conserving them throughout their usage and ensuring finesse over a brute force showing of raw energies."

"_Impressive_," Acanthus added, still staring at the newly healed wound.

Sayeth continued to stare at Sindel in sheer awe, examining the nearly healed area from all angles.

"_The Lyrium_ helps as well," Sindel said to Sayeth.

"As does my years of practice, of course. You did not think I was born with a wand do you? I spent many years on the roads outside of Denerim, much like you Sayeth, alone and without such mage luxuries."

"Of course," Sayeth nodded.

"Excuse me, now that you are feeling better, what's a _dreezil_," Dellya asked?

Sindel narrowed his gaze down to Dellya, still smiling his cat like grin.

"_What is it_," Sindel echoed, "_indeed_?"

"Bah," Dellya smirked, "heal ye mind next then elf."

Ozwulf rolled out a rumble of quiet laughter at the familiar scene. Sindel was as stubborn and puzzlingly strange as ever, which was just fine to the dwarf after the last couple of hours of anxiety that each of them had felt over their friend.

Sindel's pain, now tolerable for the elf, allowed him to take in the room they were for the first time. It was ancient and crafted with cut pieces of old stone. The room itself was rounded and raised high overhead into a dome above Sindel. The flickering torches of his companions revealed the domed ceiling above them was painted in the form of a night sky with thousands of pin points of star light. A hundred years ago, before the paint was dried and cracked from time, the display would have been beautiful.

Sindel's eyes returned to ground level and he continued to peer about the room. Behind his companions there was an open archway leading away to a shadowy room adjacent to this one. Along the circular exterior stony walls of this chamber, there were three large iron doors, all sealed. Each door had rigid iron protrusions and decorations along their framed exterior. They looked very formidable and old. To the left of each door, Sindel noticed an old iron sconce resting at eye level, rusting to time and age.

"Did we come to this place from there," Sindel asked Ozwulf, pointing at the shadowy open archway behind them?

"_Aye_," Ozwulf replied.

"That way be a stone cut burial chamber an' beyond be the tunnel we draggin' ye through from the spider's den."

"Anything of note from that last burial chamber area," Sindel prodded?

"About a dozen or so resting crypts with more _Tevinter_ scripting upon them," Sayeth answered.

"Cousins and others that were important to the family, but nothing else of notice that we could find."

Sindel's eyes drifted away from the open stone archway and back to the center of the circular room they all stood in. In the room's center, the obvious focal point of the rounded domed chamber stood a tall metal statue. The statue was of a woman in flowing hooded robes and the statue of the giant woman towered over even Acanthus by several hands. The statues hands were both held upright from their layered robes. One hand held a sword, upright, pointing up towards the domed, starry ceiling. The other hand held a merchant's measure scale. Each small scale plate seemed to hold a metal carved object that rested upon it. The entire statue appeared to made of a dark stained metal, almost black in the shadowy dim light. In places, there were glimmers of silver or gold where inlay had been added in rune marks along the folds of the statues robes, belt, and hooded cowl.

"_Exquisite_," Sindel whispered, eying the dark metal statue woman.

"_Aye_," Ozwulf added, "we be searchin' over her an' the rest o' this place for a short bit now."

"Be no traps I be seein' so far, although we be cautious to explore further 'til we knew ye be out o' the woods from the bite."

"Scary I say," Dellya blurted, staring at the statue of the tall woman.

Sindel moved closer to the statue until he was only a pace or two away from it. He looked closer at the scale and its contents resting on the weighing plates.

"She reminds me of _the Lady_," Acanthus whispered.

"_The Lady_," Dellya asked?

"The _Lady of the Skies_," Acanthus replied in a reverent tone.

"She is a goddess of the Avarri. It is the Lady who commands all birds and the things of the sky. It is the Lady who tends to the dead and carries their bones to the halls of the _Mountain Father_, so they may feast with him in his _golden Hold_."

Sindel glanced back at Acanthus, stopping his investigation of the statue's scales for a moment, his eyes narrowing with intrigue at Acanthus' words.

"Birds you say," Sindel whispered?

"Aye, the Lady uses her bird minions to carry our Avarri remains up through the clouds to the tallest peaks of the Mountain Father, where one is reborn to glory in his Hold, if the Mountain Father is pleased with your deeds in life."

"_Remains_," Dellya squeamishly asked?

"An Avarri, who falls to death, must have some, if not all of their remains cut to pieces and their bones ground to powder. Then, the bone powder is placed into a small pouch and bound with leather cords. The prayers of the Lady are whispered and the pouch left in the sun on a flat rock. If the Lady hears your prayers, she sends one of her birds to collect the fallen Avarri's remains and fly them to the golden Hold."

"_Raven_ . . . or _Crow_," Sindel asked Acanthus?

All the companions looked over at Sindel, a strange confused look on each of their faces. Sindel just smiled, his eyebrows arching downward in a superior riddling gaze.

"I do not understand friend Sindel," Acanthus responded after a long pause.

"Does the Lady, use _Raven's or Crow's_ to do her bidding," Sindel clarified?

"The Lady may use any of her minions she sees fit, not just one or another. But, if it helps you understand, the Crows and other carrion birds often do this task at the Lady's request."

"_I see_," Sindel nodded.

"_Oh_, _do ye now_," Ozwulf grumbled, turning his shoulder to the elf.

"He be seein' _clearly_ now Dellie. Raven's squawkin' at the Crows, an' Lady's callin' em down from the peaks, an' the dead bones speakin' to his Dhalish _scrambled brain_ an' all."

Dellya chuckled at Ozwulf's rant.

"_Now_ it all be makin' more sense, ye see," Ozwulf growled.

"_Ha ha_," Sindel grimaced as the dwarf paced around to the nearest iron door for another look at it.

"_Raven's or Crow's_, where did that come from Sindel, it sounds familiar for some reason," Sayeth asked, standing up and stretching?

"A dream," Sindel whispered, returning his attention to the statue, "just something I heard in a dream."

Sindel looked at the scale weighing plates in the iron woman's hand. On one plate, carved of metal, appeared to be a bleeding heart and on the other plate, a girls doll and hairbrush. The arrangement was very strange and curious to Sindel. He had never before seen a statue set up in this detail to a very off offering. It did not seem religious in any meaning to Sindel, but instead, seemed to Sindel to stand in remembrance more than anything, a like a headstone or a mausoleum gargoyle.

Sindel turned from the statue and joined Ozwulf over near the iron door the dwarf was peering over.

"No locks or key holes," Ozwulf grumbled, "an' they be openin' in ta where ever they be goin', rotten luck."

"_Really_," Sindel said?

"This little place you have stumbled upon is just full of mysteries."

"Aye, so it be seemin'," Ozwulf said.

Sindel leaned down a bit so that he could whisper close enough to Ozwulf so what he had to say would be private, even in the small circular chamber.

"_I know where the Eyes are_," Sindel whispered to Ozwulf.

Ozwulf pulled away from Sindel's warm breath upon his ear and stared up in disbelief at the grinning elf. His small coal like eyes squinted in doubt at his elven friend.

"_Bah_," was the dwarf's only whispered response as he turned back to the door in front of him.

Sindel, his grin ever present, leaned in again, whispering once more into the dwarf's ear.

"_I have it on good authority where the Eyes are as well as how they arrived at said location_," Sindel whispered.

"Good authority, _har_," Ozwulf huffed back under his breathe, shooting a knowing glance at the elf.

"That be elf talk fer a woman," Ozwulf murmured under his breathe, turning again and looking over at Sayeth now, who was examining the statue in the center of the chamber.

"Yes, but no," Sindel whispered his correction.

"Yes a woman told me this, but no, not her, not Sayeth."

"Now ye jus' talkin' in madness 'gain elf," Ozwulf hissed, keeping his voice quiet.

"I be not seein' many other woman fer ye to be gainin' such secrets from o' recent times."

"She was in _the Fade_," Sindel replied.

Ozwulf's eyes rolled back into his dwarven brow and a low moan escaped from the dwarf's bearded lips. It sounded like an old man, hung over in the alleys of Denerim after a night of drinking at the fest halls.

Acanthus, Dellya, and Sayeth all looked over at the dwarf to make sure he was ok.

"Ye _ok_ Oz," Dellya asked?

"Aye, aye, keep to ye searchin' lass," Ozwulf answered, " I know we be missin' something on these doors. Bound to be a secret level or rock to be pressin' somewhere 'ere."

"I be jus' lettin' me frustrations get the best of me, keep lookin'."

The others returned the attention to the details of the other doors and the statue while Sindel moved in once again to whisper to his dwarven friend.

"Her name was _Dreeza_," Sindel continued, whispering into Ozwulf's ear.

"And she is of _the Fade_. She knew of _the Eyes_ and of their whereabouts."

"An' she be _a demon_, right," Ozwulf whispered back at Sindel, "ye be gettin' to that detail at some point in ye story, right?"

"Nay, not at all, she is _Dhalish_, not demon," Sindel corrected.

"Or, she _was_, she is dead now, although a _dead Dhalish_ is still a _Dhalish_, just not a _live Dhalish_, right?

Ozwulf looked up once more to Sindel, his eyes contorted in frustration and disbelief. Sindel was running through the logic or dead or living Dhalish in his mind again as Ozwulf had to control his rising temper as to not thrash the elven mage. Sindel looked down at Ozwulf and saw his building rage.

"Be at ease my friend," Sindel whispered calmly to Ozwulf, "I believe I can prove my information valid."

"Will that help, if I can do that?"

"What ye be meanin'," Ozwulf asked?

"These doors, this place, and especially these torch sconces," Sindel pointed.

"My lady friend, from _the Fade_, I believe she was trying to help me, help us, in this place. If my guess is correct, this may yet prove your doubts to be faulty."

Sindel walked over to his pack that was still lying near his bedroll where he had been earlier. He pulled forth several torches from his pack and moved back over to the door near Ozwulf, stopping to light it from Dellya's lit torch before continuing. Sindel placed the lit torch in the empty sconce near the iron door and then proceeding to light two more torches, placing each of them in the empty sconces near the other two doors. The room rippled with flickering torch light from all angles. Sindel returned to the door that Ozwulf was still standing next to.

"_Dreeza_, the time has come and the torches are lit my lady," Sindel whispered to himself.

Sindel reached over to the sconce, twisting, pulling, and fingering the old thing now that it had a lit torch resting within it. After several prods, the sconce itself pulled out from the wall about a half fingers length and a metal clicking releasing noise echoed throughout the domed chamber, coming from the wall near the iron door.

Sindel pushed the nearby door and with a creaking grind, the large iron door swung in, revealing the dark room beyond.

"Thank you my dear," Sindel whispered.

"Believe me _now_," Sindel whispered down to Ozwulf?

"Maybe," the dwarf grunted, peering inside the newly revealed dark chamber.

The others were filing over to the open dark entryway as well, weapons in hand, anxious to gain a peek at what existed beyond.

"We be talkin' more in a moment, after we be seein' what be inside, eh," Ozwulf whispered back to Sindel.

"_Indeed_," Sindel replied.

Torchlight spilled into the stone work adjoining chamber as Sayeth stepped up behind Ozwulf with her torch in hand. The room was deeper than it was wide and covered with a thick layer of settled dust. Ozwulf could see most of the room from his vantage, although the deepest parts were covered in shadows from the flickering torchlight. At equal spaced intervals on the right and left walls of the old stone chamber were more intricate stonework crypts. Ozwulf saw four of these stone sarcophaguses in all, two on either side of a wide middle walk way. The thing that drew all of the companion's attention the most was that each of the four stone crypts was elaborately carved in stone relief on their lids. And those stone chiseled features were covered in pulsing and ebbing red light that emitted from a multitude of runes and glowing fiery blood etched symbols of text that scrolled across their stony tops.

"Oh my," Dellya breathed in, startled by the pulsing rune covered crypts.

"Everyone, be stayin' right where ye be," Ozwulf cautioned, "not one step until I be sayin'."

"Sindel, ye be needin' that wand now?"

"Uhm, not . . . just . . . yet," Sindel answered, straining to stare at as many of the runes and pulsing symbols as he could see from his vantage at the open doorway.

Sindel concentrated and stretched out his arcane senses all about him into the crypt. The companions watched as Sindel paused and strained moment after long moment until his eyes snapped open, a thin layer of sweat forming just under his hairline.

"It is safe to enter," Sindel exhaled in a labored huff, "I think."

"The runes are very powerful and very old. They have a spell of permanence about them and a powerful ward I believe."

"A _ward_," Acanthus echoed?

"A trap be more like it," Ozwulf added.

"It looks like more inscriptions, from _Darkmoor_ himself if I am not mistaken," Sayeth whispered, "although it is tough to read from here."

"Your all three correct in a sense," Sindel said, regaining his breathe and wiping his brow.

"It_ is_ a ward, against time and from breaking the seal, hence a trap as well. As long as we do not open these crypts, they are harmless enough to view, touch, and look upon, I assure you. And I do believe they are more of Lord Darkmoor's Tevinter scripting as well. Well done Sayeth."

"But, _what if_ the . . . uhm . . . the . . . are in . . ," Acanthus whispered towards Sindel.

"_They_ are _not_," Sindel smiled which only confused Acanthus more and sent a twisted snarl of the lips and roll of the eyes from the nearby Ozwulf.

"How does the floor look you old growling badger," Sindel asked Ozwulf?

"_Old_, bah," Ozwulf grunted.

"It be lookin' fine to me."

Ozwulf stepped into the crypt room and Sindel and the others followed closely behind. The deeper into the crypt the cluster of companions moved, the further each of them seemed to separate and draw over to a separate stone tomb. Sindel and Ozwulf, stopping at the first one of the left, while Dellya stopped at the first one on the right. Acanthus and Sayeth pushed deeper in past the room's center until Acanthus came to rest in front of the furthest one of the left wall, while Sayeth stopped, torch in hand, staring down at the furthest one in on the right. It also happened to be unique in that it was only half the size of the other crypt tombs in length and width.

Sindel stared down at the stone ornate coffin in front of him. It ebbed and pulsed with a crimson glow that covered him in an eerie bloody light. The chiseled form etched upon the top of the coffin's lid was that of a brutish looking thick man, a warrior by his form, wearing heavy knight's armor. The man's face was thick with a winter beard and his eyes had a cruel look etched into them. The warrior man held a sword in one hand and a knight's shield in the other. The markings on the shield bore a field of a rising moon upon a land with a rose to its center.

"_Ralick Darkmoor_," Sindel recited aloud, reading the Tevinter scripting pulsing along the chiseled features of the stony knight.

"Dear _Ralick_, beloved son and Knight of the Darkmoor's, although you were not blessed with the great power of mage blood, you still served your house well in your life. You were lost too soon, my son. Your barren Ferelden wife left you no heirs, but this was of no fault of yours. Consider _Tarragon_, your bastard, a gift and blessing instead of stain upon your honor. May he watch over us all long after we are all gone and extend our blood to those that have not yet been born to this world."

"Touchin'," Ozwulf dead panned.

Sindel walked over to Dellya, across the center walkway, and stared over the nearby stone coffin. It was chiseled in the form of a frail, balding, thin looking middle aged man. The form was etched in simple clothing, not much in station above a pauper, and seemed to Sindel to be more of a beggar than a peasant.

"_Abbry_ _Darkmoor_," Sindel said aloud.

"_Abbry_, my wretched little brother, you were weak, frail, unskilled, and taken before your thirtieth solstice. You were a Darkmoor brother, just a very poor one."

Dellya winced at the harsh words that Sindel had just read from the glowing red ruins on top of the crypt.

"No brotherly love it would appear," Sindel offered, patting Dellya gently upon the shoulder.

Sindel crossed the center threshold of the chamber and moved to where Acanthus was, outlined in the glowing crimson glow of the nearby runes.

"And this one," Acanthus pointed down to the crypt near him, eagerly awaiting what the markings read of this one.

"_Sissal_ _Darkmoor_," Sindel announced, clearing his throat from the dryness of the room and dust that was now floating all about from the companion's presence in the chamber.

"Dear _Sissal_, your time in this world seemed like only a season through an Age to me. Your magic burned bright and your powers would have rivaled even my own one day, if your light had not been snuffed out too soon. Know well in death, that I have found vengeance for you, child. The Templar, may his name ever be forgotten, who struck you down from this world, left his life in a great deal of pain which lasted over many bloody weeks. Know that you made a father proud and that you left your seed upon this world with your pair of dark blooming roses. The twins will rise in their day as you have fallen."

Sindel looked over at Sayeth, who was standing over the final, smaller crypt across from him in the back of the chamber. She had said nothing nor moved the entire time Sindel had been translating the runic lit writing upon the crypts. Sayeth looked up, for but a brief moment, locking eyes with the elf.

Sayeth's wet eyes were reflecting the crimson glow of the runes near her. Her cheek was wet with stains of tears.

"What . . ," Sindel whispered towards Sayeth, but was interrupted from completing his question.

The pale girl wiped her cheek quickly, realizing Sindel had seen her fragile state and she turned from him, staring down at the small crypt in front of her. She cleared her sniffling throat and began to read, her voice crackling as she did so.

"_Plerra Darkmoor_," Sayeth rasped.

Sindel did not move, still confused by the show of emotion the young pale girl with the dragon art upon her arm had shown just now.

"Dearest _Plerra_, you were to be the greatest of us all. But as your talents began to bloom in to the dark rose you were to be, you were scythed down by our Templar keepers. To put to the blade, a young flower of no more than ten seasons, shows the true heart of _the Maker's Chantry_ and its callous knights. Know this as you find your way beyond _the Thin Veil_ . . . they will pay for this! You were adored by your grandfather and your mother both. May your twin sister . . . _Plyasenth_, survive us all."


	19. Chapter 19 - Considerations

**Chapter 19 – Considerations**

Dellya stood watch back in the circular room in the shadow of the tall statue of the robed woman. It was brighter in there than in the crypt red glowing crypt chamber, due to the many lit torches still hanging from the old iron sconces. From that vantage, Dellya could hear Acanthus, Ozwulf, and Sindel 'discussing' the revelation the companions had just stumbled upon. Dellya was also keeping an eye on Sayeth, who after reading Plerra Darkmoor's epitaph, had slithered back to this chamber and slumped down against a shadowy wall. She rested on Sindel's bedroll, which was still on the floor, and kept her face buried in her knees.

Dellya watched as Sayeth as she wiped away another roll of tears that trailed down her right cheek. The tearful girl buried her head once again and made little noise other than the occasional sniffle. Dellya felt a pang of sadness and guilt wash over her for not offering Sayeth more consolation than she had. Dellya did not like the little wandering urchin that was Sayeth, but she also could relate with the grief and sadness that death or news of death at least, brought upon one's thoughts.

The raised voice of Ozwulf broke the somber moment as Dellya could hear the others 'discussion' quickly turning into a heated debate.

"_Bah_, _guesses and crows_ elf," Ozwulf blasted back at Sindel.

"Ye not be knowin' that at all."

"I am telling you Oz, Plyasenth has no real ties or allegiance to the Chantry," Sindel argued back.

"Darkmoor's grandfather _was_ a Knight Templar," Acanthus interjected, "is it so far removed that this woman could not have returned to that path, generations later, as well?"

"No," Sindel answered.

"I know Sisters of the Chant and I know the Chantry. I was suspicious from the start, but now it all fits in place. Out '_Sister Plyasenth'_ is a Darkmoor, true and true, probably a Mage if I had to guess, possibly a Blood Mage for all we know. She is well versed in playing the part, I give you that, but it is all an act for her, _believe me_."

"I be speakin' to the woman me self, elf," Ozwulf countered, "an' I be knowin' ladies o' the Chant as well."

"Mayhap not as well as ye, but I spent me own time in Denerim an' Red Cliff an' the like. She be holdin' prayer, housin' a Maker's temple, an' if she not be a Sister, then she be the best damned theatre performer in all o' Ferelden."

"She spoke to me like an elder and shaman would, I remain in agreement with Ozwulf, it was no act," Acanthus stated.

"She _tricked_ you," Sindel replied, "she tricked you and she _lied_ to you."

Acanthus' eyes widened as he considered the harsh words Sindel offered him. A flush of concern and anger washed over the big Avarri's cheeks as he stared down into his empty palm.

'_Ragnum_ . . ,' the Avarri thought to himself?

"They _all_ do," Sindel added, "they lie. They just don't see it as a lie."

"Bah, so now ye be sayin' she _is_ a Sister then," Ozwulf corrected.

"She be or she not be, not both crazy Sindel."

"A good logical and sound conclusion my friend," Sindel smiled, "but I am saying that she _acts_ like a Chantry harlot, but that it_ is_ a ruse, she _is not_ loyal to the Maker's cause."

Acanthus looked confused once again, while Ozwulf's own cheeks blushed with an orange frustrated temper.

"So, let's _assume_ I am right . . ," Sindel started as Ozwulf huffed out a snort of mocking laughter.

"_Why_ hire us? _Why_ deceive us, intentionally? _Why_ the ruse of Chantry Sister in her little town of Loggerswald for so long? What will she do with_ the Eyes_, sell them, give them to the Chantry, hold them ransom? It must be something else; more that we are missing here?"

"There be _way_ too many questions, that be fer sure an' I be in agreement with that point of ye," Ozwulf agreed.

"So, what we be doin' 'bout it from 'ere?"

"_Indeed_," Sindel mumbled, lost in his own many tumbling thoughts.

"Me dwarven gut be sayin', take the win an' cut the losses," Ozwulf suggested.

"We got a bit o' coin, a stock o' horses, an' a fine blade out o' this caper. No one be lost _or dead,_ if we be leavin' now, that be the safest play."

"_Far from it_," Sindel countered.

"Assuming we go that route, what do you do with Dellya? Send her home, to Loggerswald; empty handed and just a stone's throw away from a treacherous lying woman who was betrayed by us. A woman that could be a mage might I remind you."

"Plyasenth not be knowin' 'bout Dellie," Ozwulf insisted, "she be in the dark. An' the lass may be stayin' to the road with us, fer a while at least, it may be safer than the alternative."

"Fair enough" Sindel consented, "but you still leave a viper, preying upon the people of Loggerswald then, a charlatan and possibly a mage of great evil preying about on the unknowing."

"What is to say she will not just hire some more unsuspecting louts like us and retrieve _the Eyes _for her own purposes next week, or next month even?"

"But that be where I be getting' confused," Ozwulf said.

"If ye source be correct, _the Eyes_ not even be 'ere, they be somewhere lost in _the Fade_, right?"

"Right," Sindel answered.

"Then be lettin' her send in all the adventurers she be wantin', the things be not 'ere," Ozwulf suggested.

"Because, I believe there is still more to this than we have discovered, again I say, we are missing something here," Sindel explained.

"Something down here, something that Darkmoor himself had or knew of or created perhaps. It has to be something or someone that allowed _the Eyes_ into _the Fade_ and allowed them to be used to trap Lord Darkmoor's spirit there, for generations and beyond. I believe we cannot leave that to Plyasenth or to others to settle, and I am surely not going to leave it to guesswork. I _must_ see this through."

"Oh, so it be decided then," Ozwulf grumbled.

"No, it_ is_ being_ debated_, not decided," Sindel sniped back.

"_Enough_," Acanthus roared, frustrated with the pair of bickering allies.

"Let us argue no more. Deception and lies are but dry kindling to an already started fire. We are here. This _woman_ has lied to us. Let us find these god Eyes or the magic's to help us find them, if they can be found, and then_ take_ them. Then, we march back to Loggerswald and I will separate this liar woman's head from her shoulders for her trickery to me . . . _to us_. Then we can decide what to do with the god Eyes."

"Hmm, well, there may be a few more details to discuss here and there," Sindel nodded, "but I am all for your line of thought Acanthus."

"This be trouble upon troubles I be tellin' ye both," Ozwulf, "but, I stand with ye both til me end."

"Let us be continuin' then, let us find these Eyes if'n we be destined to."

"_Huzzah_," Dellya whispered in a cheer from the other room, a smile creeping across her torch lit face!

Ozwulf paced back into the circular chamber where the girls had been waiting. Sindel and Acanthus trailed behind him.

"I cannot wait until I have a vote in the saying's so on these types of decisions," Dellya whispered to Ozwulf as he entered the room.

"By the way, how does one get to_ that_ status my stubborn dwarven friend," Dellya teased?

"Don't be startin' with me lass, I be not in a mood," Ozwulf grunted, walking past Dellya to the next closest closed iron door to them both.

Dellya and Acanthus both joined the dwarf over by the closed iron door. All three of them began giving the door a final once over before they attempted to open it using the torch sconce, as Sindel had done with the last door. They began a quiet discussion about secret passages that was lost to Sindel as he drifted the opposite direction, away from them.

Sindel moved over to the quietly sitting Sayeth and kneeled down next to her, brushing her thin unkempt hair back from her moist blotchy face. The girl's eyes were puffy and red as she stared up at Sindel.

"_They killed her_," Sayeth whimpered as she tried to catch her shallow breathe.

"_They murdered her_, for being different . . . for being a mage . . . for being born."

"_Yes_, I know," Sindel agreed.

"But, that is a very one sided way of looking at this bloody world we are born into. Little Plerra, much like you and I, were not punished for being born a mage. We are punished, or killed, for not being a mage in a tower, kept under guard by a Templar's blade."

"_Our choices . . . our punishments_."

"What is a choice then if that choice is imprisonment or death, or even the butchery of _tranquility_ for some," Sayeth said?

"There is no choice," Sindel replied.

"_Freedom _on the run or_ imprisonment _in a towerorthe risk of _death_ . . . you, I, Plerra, and even the evil Lord Darkmoor are all in agreement there. You have learned another harsh lesson of life as a mage this day. Now, tuck it away inside you, hold onto it, and try and learn from it . . . as that truth will not change . . . at least not in our lifetimes."

Sindel stood up and offered Sayeth a hand up. She took it, wiping her eyes one last time as she stood up. Sindel moved over toward the others in front of the iron door.

"Are we ready," he asked?

"Aye, I be thinkin' so, 'ave at it," Ozwulf answered.

"What 'bout ye wand, do we be needin' to go back 'fore it 'fore we be openin' this next chamber?"

"Certainly_ not_ before we open this door," Sindel replied, "let us peek inside and then we can give that a longer thought."

Sindel fidgeted with the old iron sconce and pulled it out from the wall. Another echoing clicking metallic sound shot forth from beyond the iron door and its surrounding stony walls. Ozwulf nudged at the door with the front wooden guard of his crossbow and it creaked open revealing a dimly lit chamber within.

The light seemed to pour out in more waves of shadowy pulsing red, as the crypt before had done. Acanthus pushed the door wider so all the companions could have a complete view of the chamber inside.

"_Oh my_," Sindel whispered.

Dellya took a half step back in shock, bumping into Sayeth, who was maneuvering between the others to steal a glance into the glowing red chamber ahead.

The stone flooring continued from this circular room and into the new adjoining chamber. It formed a walkway into this new area, wide enough for two normal sized folk to walk abreast. The walkway went forward into the red lit room about twenty paces where it widened into a circular stone island, large enough to place a small wagon within. All around the stone circular platform, the floor dropped to a sunken sub level below this one. Stairs went down into the level below in circular winding patterns to the right and left walls just off of the landing where the companions peered in from. It appeared to Ozwulf to be solid twenty to thirty steps down, on either side of this center point, to the level below them.

The crimson glow emanated from above, where there was another domed, high arching ceiling that rose above this stone island in front of the heroes. Dangling from a multitude of aged rusting chains, dead center over the stone circular platform was a corpse. The body was mostly skeletal and wore rusting old armor with many holes and tears about it. All along the breastplate of the dead skeletal knight, were etched red pulsing runic marks, the same that were made upon the crypts in the previous chamber. The script of the pulsing blood red marks seemed familiar to all that were looking up at them.

"Darkmoor's doin'," Ozwulf guessed.

"Yes," Sayeth said.

"It marks the Knight as, _Ser Paramour of Denerim_," the girl read.

"What else it be sayin'," Ozwulf prodded?

"It says," Sindel began, "_Ser Paramour of Denerim, I promised you in my dying breathe that we would one day meet again. And in that day, you would answer for your sins against me and mine. The day has come, it will not be your last, for even in death, I am unbeatable. And even in death, you will find me on your heels. You may have stopped my advances, but my reach is long and my family is loyal_."

"Poor Ser Paramour," Dellya said.

"Hung here, he is forbidden to reach the Father's Mountain, a torturous way to end," Acanthus added.

"Uhm, yes," Sindel shuttered, staring at Acanthus for a moment.

Sindel peered to the left at the narrow winding steps leading down against the curved stone wall off of the nearby landing.

"There are darkened corridors and open archways below, at the bottom of this chamber," Sindel said, "I can see several from here connecting to a curved thin tunnel way."

"It be the same on this other side," Ozwulf added, peering down the stairs to the right.

"Besides the effigy, what do you make of this," Sindel asked Ozwulf, pointing down at the stairs and the room below?

"More crypts be me guess," Ozwulf answered, "or deeper catacombs leading further below."

"Either way, I not be likin' it."

"Can we at least . . . you know . . . _bring him down_," Dellya asked, pointing up towards the entangled body of the skeletal Ser Paramour?

"I say leave him there," Sayeth answered, "a _fitting_ end for a child murderer."

"You don't know that he . . ," Dellya snapped back before she was interrupted by Acanthus.

"_Shhhh_," Acanthus hissed.

Everyone stopped, looking about at the pulsing runes above, at the shadowy stairs curving down to the right and left of the landing, and finally to one another.

"Something . . . stirs below," Acanthus broke the silence.

"I hear it as well, movement, coming from the narrow tunnel beneath us," Sindel agreed.

Dellya's hands trembled as she knocked an arrow to her bowstring, while Sayeth took a half step back under the doors archway. The others stared down to either side of the stairs and landing, waiting for visual confirmation of what their ears had already revealed.

Movement came first from the right side tunnel at the base of the curved stone stairs. A sluggish shadowy stagger came from the narrow hallway leading from one of the dark open archways of the sublevel, followed by another, and another.

"It be more o' _the dead_," Ozwulf growled, "an' plenty o' them this time."

"I be seein' a half o' dozen already an' more pourin' out o' those dark halls, an' more by the moment!"

Sindel and Acanthus watched the left side narrow hallway as it too filled with shambling dead stumbling corpses, hungry to advance and rip the flesh from the waiting heroes above.

"Fight or flee," Sindel asked, his head turning from right to left and back to his right as quick as a roving hummingbird amongst spring flowers.

"_Hold 'ere_," Ozwulf roared!

"The steps be evenin' the odds fer now 'gainst their numbers, but all be at the ready to be gettin' behind that door at me command."

Acanthus stood at the ready, silvered sword in hand. He towered over both Sindel to his left and Ozwulf to his right, centered between them, but ready to advance and protect either of them once the first zombie corpse made its slow final advance up the last few stairs towards the landing. The Avarri counted no less than eight now shambling up the left side and maybe that many or more advancing up the right. His heart beat hard within his chest, waiting for the first moment to strike.

"_Bay Zah . . . Oom Wray . ._ ," came a hissing whisper from somewhere below, in the narrow halls of the sub level.

The eerie voice sounded like a cross between a hissing serpent and a blast of gas erupting from a rocky steam fissure.

A sickly green light began erupting below the far side of the raised stone platform in front of the heroes, its origin hidden but coming from the stone trench below the platform's far edge. The hungry dead stopped their advance in unison, all turning their rotting heads back towards the green glow that was growing from behind their numbers. A ground fog began to roll forward along the sub level trench towards the base of both sets of stairs, pouring forth from the many dark archway openings below until it had covered the many corpses up to their rotting boney knees. This made the growing green lights radiance even stronger and more sinister looking against the bank of white fog. It was growing so encompassing; it was threatening to overtake the pulsing red rune marks above.

"_Meeno Fah . . . Zithree_," the rasping gas like eruption of a voice hissed again from the far reaches of the trench, beneath the heroes' line of sight.

"What this be," Ozwulf whispered to Sindel, his eyes wide with terror?

"Uhm . . . I am not sure," Sindel whispered back.

The green light flared in intensity and then began to rise from the trench tunnel on the far side of the raised platform's edge. Shadows peeled apart as the light rose, making way for their new approaching dark master. Breeching the horizon of the platforms edge was a being of evil and darkness. As it levitated up from the trench below, landing gently upon the stone platform under the hanging prone body of Ser Paramour, the heroes could see the thing's hate filled eyes seek them out.

The being was roughly the size and shape of a man, although its form was covered in a black and red silken mages robes. Where it was not tattered, the robe pulsed in green arcane rune marks along its folds, cowl, and deep hood. The being's face, although concealed partially by the deep hood and cowl of its robes, was just a blurry form of gas and light. The shape under the hood was a green glowing outline of a man's skull, ethereal and magical in its content, with a sinister pair of red glowing eyes floating amidst its gaseous glow. It raised its robed arms and each hand wafted forth in green glowing essence as its boney fingers seemed to be made of green glowing tendrils of magical light and smoke.

"A_ Horror_ . . . _move_," Sindel screamed!

But it was too late, the being threw his spell and a spray of emerald snake like misty magic blasted forth across the stone walkway into the cluster of heroes. As the green tendrils hit like a verdant spray of arcane webbing, it wrapped all five of the companions in a mist of swirling spiraling fingers of greenish smoke.

"_Take . . . them . . . bring them . . . below_," the being hissed its command to the shambling corpse minions still waiting on the stairs.

The corpses shuttered in unison to both side of the landing and began to shamble forward in an advance once again.

A silver flash erupted around the front of the heroes. The flash was as bright as the sun reflecting against a polished new silvered shield at high noon. The flash of brilliant light had come from _the Steel Fire Shroud_, the ancient Templar blade in Acanthus' hands. Acanthus felt the warm light wash over him and his surroundings. He was unsure as to what had just happened, but was strangely at peace about it. He had seen the green magical light and smoke emit from the undead creature in front of him and then had felt a strange sensation of a deep dreamy sleep fall over him. The sensation did not last long as the silver flash from the blade had woke him instantly from it and had covered him in a warm pleasant feeling, replacing the magical drowsiness.

Acanthus glanced back at his friends. All four were standing as they had been moments ago, like statues in a gallery hall. Each of them stiff and staring forward in suspended surprise. All of them were unmoving, their eyes glowing and filled with a green roiling magical smoke.

"_You and I then demon_," Acanthus roared, his voice echoed magically, enhanced and amplified by the magic's of the Steel Fire Shroud to carry across the distance of a giant battlefield.

"_Keenah_ . . . _Savoy_," the demon Horror hissed to the frozen companions behind the Avarri.

The green misty eyed form of Ozwulf raised his loaded dwarven crossbow and aimed it upwards towards the back of Acanthus' head. His finger inched against the trigger of the loaded crossbow.

Another flash of silver magic flared from the Templar blade. The 'Horror' drifted back a full pace, almost to the edge of the circular stone platform, away from Acanthus and the silvery blade he brandished in front of him. Ozwulf remained still, his crossbow still aimed, his finger still upon his trigger, but no more motion came from the entranced dwarf.

Acanthus saw this and advanced a full pace forward, his confidence and anger both growing.

"What is the matter demon, I thought you were the master of fear, not a slave to it," Acanthus taunted?

"_Mogri . . . Bahay . . . Rogos_," the angry demon Horror hissed back in response.

Green arcs of lighting ripped forth from the demon things outstretched smoky tendril like fingers. They started in emerald sparks but grew in fury and force as they tumbled and raced towards Acanthus, like a rolling lightning storm across the spring plains. As the hundreds of strikes of green lightning roared with magical heat and fury, they crashed into the waiting barbarian.

The silver blade acted like a beacon against the green storm and drew the magical forces into it and away from Acanthus. It sucked and snuffed them out until they were all gone, leaving no mark upon the static charged warrior or the fine silvery blade.

A silver flame erupted from the base of the sword, licking along the rune marked blades edge with a silvery holy fire.

"_The Shroud_," the demon Horror recoiled in terror as it realized what it witnessed in front of it.

A flurry of motion erupted around the circular chamber as the demon Horror leaped backwards, down into the stone trench below, trying its best to flee from Acanthus and his silvery blade of chrome fire. On both sides of the stairway and landing, the masses of corpses clamored over one another in a charge, tearing backwards into the dark open archways they had first staggered through. Acanthus' allies also began to move of their own free will once more, including Ozwulf, who was lowering his still aimed crossbow, a look of confusion awash over his bearded face.

"_What_," Ozwulf stammered?

"_How_," Sindel murmured?

"It was the sword . . . the silver fire," Acanthus tried his best to answer, turning to face his friends, his blade still flickering in a silver flaming ripple along its blade.

"They _fear_ it, even the demon . . . even in death."

"_Maker's breath_," Ozwulf whispered, staring at the silver flaming weapon.

"Come," Acanthus ordered, "let us release Ser Paramour now, those dead will not bother us now and he deserves his rest after so many years lost to their tortures."

Ozwulf and the others nodded in agreement and went to work releasing the body of Ser Paramour from his chain wrapped bondage. After the knights remains were lowered, they pulled his body back into the statue room with them and sealed back the iron door leading into the dark chamber. Ozwulf eyed Acanthus and his blade as he closed the iron door behind them. The sword's flames were now just a glow of radiant silver light, its flames now almost extinguished.

"_Never_ . . . in me many years . . . have I . . ," Ozwulf said, lost for words as he stared at the silver glowing sword.

"Nor I my friend," Acanthus nodded, patting the dwarf on the shoulder as both admired the magical Templar blade.

"It is truly a _gift of the gods_," Acanthus complimented the blade.

"It _is_ impressive," Sindel added.

"What was that thing," Dellya asked, her hands still shaking from the encounter.

"A '_Horror_', from what I have read and gathered," Sindel answered.

"A mage, in life, that died and was returned in undead fashion by a powerful Blood Mage most likely. Its body, empowered back to the un-living by a demon of magic and great power. Its mind altered, but its magical abilities remain intact, amplified by the demon now inhabiting its host form. They are powerful servants of dark magic and vicious foes armed with nightmares."

"That is the first time I have ever seen such a fiend, but I have heard lore of them."

"I have seen one such as it, _once before_," Acanthus interrupted, stealing a glance down into his open palm.

"Well, I hope to never see one again," Dellya said.

"I could not move, its spell, it made me sleep and dream. As it took form over me, I felt as if I had fallen into a lake, with ropes tied to my limbs. I fell and fell into darkness until I dreamt of green fogs and nightmare demons all about me, but could do nothing to stop them."

"_Indeed_," Sindel nodded.

"Those are powerful, controlling magic's that take the mind and the body from you. A brand of magic's only dared by the powerful and the experienced. They are often fueled by the blood of the living and are made of nightmares."

Ozwulf let out a deep sigh, looking down at his right hand and trigger finger. The thought of him being forced to put a bolt through the back of his friends head sent shivers down his spine.

"I be sorry lad," Ozwulf offered to Acanthus.

"There is no need friend Oz," Acanthus said, "it was not you're doing, it was the demons."

"Still, I be sorry . . . none the less," Ozwulf whispered.

"Well then," Sindel started, "if we are set to avoid the bowels of that chamber, it leaves only one more to try."

"Let us hope it bears answers for us eh?"

"Aye," Ozwulf agreed, moving over towards the last remaining closed iron door.

Sayeth took it all in, watching her allies closely over the last hour. Even now, as they begin an examination of the third and final iron door, she watched, listened, and pondered their current situation.

She had watched how they reacted at the news of the murder of _Plerra Darkmoor_. She had listened as they had promised death to the manipulations of _Sister Plyasenth_. She had reflected upon the narrow minded thinking that each of them, even Sindel, had demonstrated to the plights as one such as Darkmoor and the tragedy the Templar's had caused his family . . . _a family of mages_.

For now, Sayeth revealed nothing, as there was nothing she could say to change their thoughts or hearts on the matters. She had seen them all paint the portraits of their villains, the same scene that marked them all as heroes in the making.

She did not feel so _heroic_.

Did that make her a _villain_? It was hard for the pale young girl to grasp, to wrap her mind around. But one thing was for sure, _Sayeth_, the Witch Girl of Loggerswald, no longer saw the events unfolding in front her as black and white. All that was happening around her was unraveling into blurs of shadowy grey, mixing light and darkness, both truth and lie. Not so unlike her glorious Fade, the girl reminisced.

A time was coming, a time where decisions must be made. A time, she reflected, where lines would be drawn and destiny's unfolded and Sayeth was beginning to firmly understand where hers would fall. The pale girl with the dragon tattoo upon her arm wondered if her companions were ready for what she already knew, what she was willing to die for.

Sindel glanced back toward Sayeth, interrupting his fidgeting with the last iron torch sconce in front of the far door. His eyes met hers and he could see the deep thought and troubled look upon the girl's brow.

"Are you alright," Sindel mouthed to her, not making a sound?

"Yes," Sayeth nodded, walking up behind Sindel, "_Indeed_."


End file.
